


Through the Seven Gates

by AveChameleon



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Action/Adventure, Because no way is that kid fourteen, Canon Divergence - Post-ToP, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Harm to Children, I should probably just face it at this point, Psychological Trauma, Rescue, Trunks is gonna have a hard time, Whump, minor timeline divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AveChameleon/pseuds/AveChameleon
Summary: Vegeta’s world is torn apart when a familiar enemy murders his wife and kidnaps his children.To restore his family, he must travel the multiverse, confront his past, and even prevent the collapse of reality itself—before his son is lost to him forever.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 54
Kudos: 55





	1. In Which a Loss is Made Manifest

The first of the Very Wrong Things that Goku noticed upon returning to Earth was the spiking ki. It was definitely Vegeta’s—he had been familiar with it for over a decade now, plus they’d just spent the last three months training on Beerus’s planet together. But this feeling was not normal. Even from miles away, Vegeta’s ki was abnormally strong, so bright as to be blinding. Worse, it was flickering erratically, and something was…wrong…about it. Goku immediately put his fingers to his forehead to transmit.

The second Very Wrong Thing hit his ears as soon as he arrived at a hallway in Vegeta’s house. In all the years he’d known the man, Goku had heard a lot of different tones in Vegeta’s voice. Anger, mostly. Contempt, a close second. Occasionally even humor or contentment. But this was something he’d never heard before. Vegeta was…the only word he could think to describe it was _keening_. Unintelligible words were coming from his mouth in a pleading tone, interrupted with outright sobs. Goku entered the room apprehensively.

There he saw the third Very Wrong Thing. Vegeta was sitting on the floor, holding something in his arms protectively. Goku’s blood froze, his breath pressed from his lungs, as he saw the blue hair tumbling out. His mind struggled to reject the sight, but the pieces kept coming together until he could no longer deny what he saw. His oldest friend lay there dead in her husband’s arms—her eyes open but glazed over, her neck bruised and hanging at an angle no living neck could have. _Bulma, no_ , he thought. Everything else in the world went grey, and his mind spun as his chest was crushed from the realization. _Please, Kami, no._

Goku had just managed his first breath, when Vegeta’s head whipped around to face him, and the last of the Very Wrong Things occurred. As his eyes focused on Goku, they instantaneously changed from a dead numbness into a black hatred. “You…” the Saiyan prince growled. Goku backed away. There was murder in the other man’s eyes and voice. Sure, Vegeta had claimed to want to kill him for most of the time Goku had known him, but this look of actual homicidal rage was something he hadn’t seen since their first meeting. Maybe not even then—at that point Vegeta would have been happy to kill him, but right now it seemed like the prospect of tearing his heart out was the only thing in the universe keeping Vegeta breathing.

“Vegeta, what—” was as far as he got before the other man leapt at him with a roar, his hair glowing blue, lightning crackling in the aura of his ki. Goku barely managed to pull up his own Super Saiyan form before the fist slammed into his chest, knocking him through three walls and driving the breath out of him. Instantly, Vegeta was on him again.

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” he screamed in pain and fury, throwing an uppercut that drove Goku hundreds of feet into the air. Goku barely managed to get his breath back when Vegeta quickly flew up to meet him with a knee to the gut. “YOUR FAULT! YOU! BASTARD!”

Goku desperately threw up his arms to block the wild blows, but not even Beerus had managed to dodge Vegeta’s fists when he was driven by this mindless anger. _He’s really trying to kill me_ , thought Goku.

The hits came like a rockslide. Blow followed blow, without a second of respite given between. Goku was driven back and back, each impact a sledgehammer on concrete.

“Vegeta, stop!” he yelled desperately. But the attack continued. No reply was made, no quarter given. Only unintelligible shouts of fury and wild, savage blows. Goku threw his own punches, but he was holding back; he didn’t actually want to hurt his friend. His blows were shrugged off like they were nothing, Vegeta’s return strikes not letting up in the slightest. 

A pair of fists slammed into Goku’s collarbones, smashing him down into the ground. Passers-by screamed as chips of concrete flew up toward them, and tires screeched nearby as a car desperately slammed its brakes to avoid the new Saiyan-shaped crater in the road. _The city’s too crowded_ , Goku thought. _We’re gonna hurt someone if we stay here._ Fingers to forehead, he brought himself behind Vegeta and grabbed on to his shoulder, then teleported them both again. In a split second, the buildings and concrete were replaced by the trees and earth of the great forest to the north of the city. It was empty here, and Goku could try to talk Vegeta down without worrying about casualties.

“Please, just talk to me!” he shouted into Vegeta’s ear. But there was no response beyond an elbow slamming into his ribcage. Goku heard more than felt the sharp crack of at least one rib breaking, and his grip on the other man was lost. The change in scene was no distraction to Vegeta as his attacks kept coming. Goku’s arms were beginning to numb from the repeated attempts to shield his body, and he could feel his muscles slow with each block.

A high kick slammed into the side of his skull, tearing the skin of his brow ridge. The vision on Goku’s right side went black as hot blood poured over his eye. When he brought his hand up to wipe it clear, Vegeta took advantage of the distraction and slammed a knee directly into Goku’s kidney. Pain ripped through him and he went flying, slamming into several full-grown trees and plowing a deep furrow in the earth.

Dazed from the impact, Goku sprawled unmoving on the ground. The ground was a nice place to be, he realized. The ground was comfortable and cool—at least, compared to the fire spreading from his kidney. Goku was pretty sure the organ was ruptured. _Great,_ he thought, _I’m going to be peeing blood for a week_. The smell of the earth and sap from the shattered trees lulled him toward unconsciousness, and he might have passed out there if the air had not suddenly turned acrid with the smell of an electrical fire. Goku opened his eyes to see Vegeta above him, hands together gathering a wicked purple ball that Goku recognized immediately, even before the words reached him.

“GALICK—"

 _If he fires that here, he could take out the whole continent_ , Goku realized with horror. His hands shot out automatically to counter. “KA-ME-HA-ME—”

“GUN!” “HA!” The blasts fired in tandem, the shock wave of their meeting tearing through every cell in Goku’s body. The purpose was met; the energy shot out through the forest and knocked down every tree hundreds of feet around, but the impact was dispersed before hitting the ground.

 _Okay, this needs to end. Now._ Goku struggled to his feet, trying not to succumb to the vertigo washing over him as the exchange of blows resumed. His back was on fire, the taste of blood filled his mouth. The shouts and cries from early in the fight had given way to the quiet sound of panting breaths as each man reserved his energy for fighting. Goku knew he was approaching the limits of his endurance. He could no longer afford to try to end this without serious violence.

Thankfully, he could see that though Vegeta’s pain and fury were granting him strength and stamina, they were dulling his usually sharp sense of battle—he was wild, feral, lacking his normal strategy. Goku just had to manage not to die until he could find—

 _There._ Goku saw his chance as Vegeta swung wildly with his left arm, the one Goku knew was unstable from an old injury. He ducked beneath the blow then grabbed the arm, planted a foot on Vegeta’s chest, and _pulled_ . Vegeta screamed in pain as Goku felt the _pop_ of the bone separating from its socket. Tendons and ligaments tore apart like overstretched taffy, and suddenly the arm was about three inches too long. 

Goku couldn’t risk allowing Vegeta to recover; the fight would keep going until Vegeta simply couldn’t physically move anymore, and he had to make that happen as soon as possible. Keeping a painful grip on the injured arm to immobilize his opponent, Goku tangled one foot behind Vegeta’s knee, then kicked out as hard as he could with the other. 

His foot slammed into the side of the knee with the force of a hurricane making landfall. The joint shattered. _End this end this end this_ , Goku thought to himself. Gathering every ounce of ki he could, he charged his power until he could feel his skin crackle and swung Vegeta with all his strength into the ground. Dust flew up into the air, obscuring vision. The sound of the impact rolled like thunder through the forest.

Goku landed next to the crater. “Are we done, Vegeta?” panted Goku without dropping his guard. “I don’t want to hurt you any more. Can’t you just tell me what happened?”

Vegeta tried to rise, but his injured leg gave out and he fell to one knee, cradling his left upper arm to keep the shoulder still. And there he paused, his whole body shaking. He raised his head and glared at Goku, but this time his anger was mixed with a hopeless anguish. “You just had to let him live," he spat. "You had to suggest him for our team and you fucking agreed to let him stay alive in return.” Vegeta’s head dropped as a sob escaped him. “You just had to be the fucking nice guy, as always.”

“Who—” started Goku, but then realization hit him. _Oh no. Oh, no no nonono._ His mouth felt like it was filled with sand as the whisper escaped him. “Frieza. Frieza did this.”

Vegeta nodded as his hair dropped back down to black. The anger that had been fueling him drained into the ground, leaving only bottomless grief. “He was waiting,” he said quietly. “He was waiting until we were away and couldn’t stop him. I should have known he’d never just go his own way. I should have known he’d never let me get away with defying him.”

Goku let go of his ki and approached Vegeta. He knelt next to the other man. “We’ll get her back, Vegeta. We’ll gather the Dragon Balls and get her back, and then we’ll go beat Frieza back to Hell.”

Vegeta shook his head as a laugh of pure despair escaped him. “No we won’t, Kakarot. He already used them. He found them and summoned the dragon, and he wished for regeneration. Immortality. Of course.” He looked up with hopeless eyes. “But the orbs don’t just give one wish anymore. And he used his second to wish that no one he killed personally could ever be resurrected.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s gone. Forever.”

The magnitude of this slammed into Goku like a truck. _Gone. She was gone_. He had gotten so used to death being a temporary setback that he had barely considered that anyone he loved could ever be truly gone. The feeling of loss was overwhelming, the world tunneling into blackness so deep that he almost missed the next words.

“He killed my wife, Kakarot. And when he left, he took my children.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Beautiful art by the amazingly talented AAKynge
> 
> Thank you to blackswans22 for your beta reading - I couldn't do it without your great suggestions and encouragement!
> 
> Updated every other week (I hope)
> 
> Comments very gratefully accepted--I really love hearing from my readers!


	2. In Which an Enemy Explains Revenge

When Vegeta arrived, there was no one to greet him. “Bulma? Are you home?” he called. “Boy? Anyone?” There was no answer. Annoying, but not unexpected. They knew he was planning on coming back from training today, but _when_ was always uncertain, being as it was dependent on whenever Beerus happened to fall asleep.

Vegeta shrugged his bag off his shoulder, letting it fall to the floor. He’d deal with it later; right now he was starving. As he entered the kitchen, though, he stopped. Something felt…strange. The feeling was nearly imperceptible, but disconcerting nevertheless. He reached out with his ki, sensing for anything out of place. _Nothing. Wait…no_. For a moment he thought he felt something, but it was gone. Probably just a side effect of traveling via Whis’s strange powers. He rolled his neck to try to rid himself of the sensation, and opened the refrigerator door.

A few minutes later, as he was demolishing a roast chicken, he felt it again. _What the hell?_ he thought. Once again, he reached out. This time, he felt something. He relaxed as he recognized it. _Just Bulla._ But her ki didn’t have the usual pink soft feel it usually did. _She’s…scared_? Then it hit him. Bulla was home. But he hadn’t sensed Bulma or Trunks. In fact, he hadn’t sensed anyone. His wife didn’t even like leaving Bulla with their twelve-year-old son; she would _never_ have left their infant daughter home alone. _Why is Bulla home if Bulma is gone?_

A prickling sensation began at the base of his spine, spreading slowly upward and wrapping around his whole body. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong. He sprang from the table and began moving quickly in the direction he felt his daughter. _Why is this house so gods-damned big?_ he thought angrily. The fear that had begun in the kitchen began expanding the closer he got. He broke into a sprint down the hallway as he began to feel something else. Some _one_ else. Oh, gods; someone so very, very, familiar. 

And so it was that he was not taken entirely by surprise when he entered the room and found Hell come to life. Bulma, his Bulma, was home after all. Vertigo hit as the universe shattered and he fell to his knees. _No. No. Please, please no._ His eyes were pinned to his wife’s form with the force of a black hole. He crawled to her, hoping desperately that he’d hear a faint heartbeat, see a shallow breath; that he’d find something, anything, to put lie to what his eyes told him. But when he touched her cool skin, all hope failed and a cry of despair escaped him. _Please let me be dead_ , he thought. _Please let me be back in Hell. Please, gods, let this not be real._

His stupor was shattered by the whimper of a baby too exhausted to wail. _Eschalotte._ The soft mewling shook him back to reality and drew his eyes upward, to where Bulla was held in a thick, horrible, white tail.

A familiar smile. Purple lips curving cruelly. A voice so refined yet filled with malice.

“Hello, Vegeta.”

His mind went black as rage enveloped him. With a bellow of fury he tensed to launch himself at Frieza—to tear his wife’s killer to shreds, hunt his soul down in Hell and wipe it from existence—when the tail tightened and his infant daughter’s tiny form was held up like a shield, the lizard’s loathsome hand on her throat.

“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t do that if you want to keep your spawn alive.” Bulla’s soft cries froze him where he knelt, and Frieza chuckled. 

“Good little monkey. I see you have at least some brain after all.”

Vegeta choked out, “What have you done? Why? You bastard, why her?”

“Do you really need me to answer that? I did it because of _you_ , of course.” A mocking smile curled Frieza’s lips.

“You see, the last few times we’ve met, I have been rather disappointed to notice a distinct lack of respect has crawled into my former pet,” Frieza tutted in reproof. “I have come to realize that you need to re-learn something you seem to have forgotten.” Frieza leaned down. “You need to re-learn that I am better than you, monkey. You need to remember how to fear.”

“So fight _me_ , you fucking coward! She had nothing to do with it!”

Frieza smirked. “But simply killing you wouldn’t have been nearly the wonderful object lesson I’ve provided, now would it? It would hardly serve the purpose if you learned how pathetic you are only while you were actually dying.” Frieza’s eyes slid from his for a moment, and anger covered his face. He snarled, “Besides, the bitch had the nerve to insult me. Snapping her neck was a true pleasure.”

A growl erupted from Vegeta’s chest, and he couldn’t stop himself from lunging forward at the insult. Frieza skipped aside, and his hand tightened on Bulla’s throat. The infant girl’s face began to turn purple as her airway was cut off, her sudden silence chilling Vegeta’s heart more than her cries had done. He forced himself to pull back, holding up his hands. “All right! All right, I’ll stop. Please,” he said, hating the pleading tone in his voice. “Please, just…stop hurting her.”

Frieza kept his hand tight for a few seconds longer, before relaxing it. Bulla began to suck in air, the sound of each tortured cough and whimper stabbing through him in an agonizing torture. “Good monkey. You had better learn to behave, or I won’t relent next time,” Frieza snarled.

Vegeta barely heard what he said after that—it wasn’t the first monologue he’d had to sit through. His heart pounded and every cell of his body ached to destroy the monster in front of him, but his eyes stayed riveted on his baby girl restrained on the edge of death as the bastard kept talking and talking. How he’d found the Dragon Balls, how he’d summoned the dragon—at night, during a thunderstorm, to prevent notice—how he’d planned for every contingency. About the horrific and ruinous results of his wishes. About how Vegeta had wronged him, how his previous loss was a fluke, about how he was once again the most powerful being in the galaxy and all would bow before him, et cetera, et cetera. Somehow, Vegeta realized, it was possible to be drowning in grief, incandescent with rage, and bored out of your gods-damned mind _at the same time_. But then, something Frieza said cut through the fog—

“And now I get to train a new recruit. I am _so_ looking forward to it. After all, someone stole my favorite pet monkey. It’s only fair I should get a new one.” He smiled cruelly and said, “I think I’ll like this one even better. I always did like purple.”

The significance of his words sunk in and wrapped glacial bands around Vegeta’s heart. Trunks. He hadn’t thought about Trunks, about where he was. He must have assumed he was at Goten’s house, or the park, or _something_. His mind had tried to believe Trunks was fine. Must be fine. But this—oh, gods. His fists tightened until he felt blood run down his palms from where his nails had dug in. His son. Frieza—the demon who had made his life hell, who had tortured him for years, who had turned him into a monster, who had haunted his nightmares even years after his death— _had his son_.

His voice shook with livid madness. “You touch my boy and no dragon will save you, Frieza. I swear I will feed you your own guts. I don’t care if you’re immortal; that just lets me do it over and fucking over again.” 

Frieza only chuckled darkly. “Can’t you come up with any better threats than that, Vegeta? I would have thought you’d at least have picked up more interesting intimidation techniques during all your time with me.” He sighed. “You know, when I came here I thought I would simply kill you once I had gotten my fill of watching your pain. But now, looking at you, I find it’s so very, very satisfying to see you like this. I think, after all, it’s much more delicious to let you live. With a dead mate, and children under my tender care, and to know it’s all your fault.” The lizard turned his back— _actually turned his back to me_ , thought Vegeta in fury—and began to leave the room. 

“You’ve made a colossal mistake, Frieza,” Vegeta seethed. “I am going to fucking hunt you down and you will regret ever laying eyes on me, you filthy fucking lizard! There is nowhere you can run. Nowhere!”

Frieza paused by the door, and running his finger down Bulla’s jaw said, “I wouldn’t think about trying to follow me if I were you. If I even suspect you are coming after me, this pathetic mewling creature will die in as horrible a fashion as I can think of. And I think you know how imaginative I can be.”

* * *

The news had been spread, and the Z fighters had gathered together. They watched as Vegeta paced like a tiger held in a small cage, fists clenching and unclenching. Goku could almost _see_ the rage baking off him.

“So…um, what happens now?” Krillin finally asked.

“What now? Now, I go get my children back and I make that fucking lizard understand pain, that’s what fucking happens now!” Vegeta raged.

“I’m surprised you even let him leave,” said Yamcha, earning a fierce glare from Vegeta.

“He…had Bulla.” His voice grew thick and his head dropped slightly, hating to confess even the smallest weakness. “I’m fast, but I’m not fast enough to have gotten to him before he could break her neck. I couldn’t risk it.”

Gohan cleared his throat. “Listen, I was thinking…obviously, Earth’s Dragon Balls won’t be usable for a year, but what about the Namekian ones? Could we maybe use them to undo Frieza’s?”

Piccolo shook his head. “No. I already asked Dende. The dragons can’t interfere with each other’s power. They also can’t undo their own, so waiting a year won’t work either.”

Silence descended for a moment. Then Krillin spoke again. “Goku, couldn’t you just lock onto the kids and bring them back? He can’t be constantly holding a knife to their throats, right?” He cringed as Vegeta scowled at him. “I mean, um, metaphorically.”

Troubled, Goku said, “I tried. I can’t find ‘em for some reason. I can’t find Frieza either, which is weird. He’s strong enough that I should be able to find him pretty easy, but it’s like he vanished or somethin’.”

“He trained.” Vegeta’s voice trembled with barely-contained wrath. “He claimed to have found a way to not only suppress his own ki like we can, but mask the people around him too. He’s hiding, the fucking coward.”

“So how will we track him down?” asked Gohan.

“‘We,’ boy?” asked Vegeta, arching his eyebrow. “ _I’ll_ find him. I know some places he might try going to ground. And if he’s not there, I know some people that might be ‘persuaded’ to give me information.” His lips curved in a sneer and his eyes darkened as he pictured the violence ahead. 

“You aren’t going alone, Vegeta,” said Goku.

“I don’t need your help,” Vegeta spat.

Goku spoke with uncharacteristic force. “I’m coming.” 

“Fuck you, Kakarot. This is _my_ family.”

Goku felt anger welling up in his chest. “Damn it, Vegeta. You always think you can do things on your own. This is serious, and you’re gonna need help. Quit letting your pride get in the way and let me help you.”

Vegeta spun on him, grabbing the front of his gi and pushing him against the wall. His hands were shaking, his face full of outrage. “You think _I’m_ not taking this seriously, Kakarot? You dare lecture _me_ on not taking things seriously? He killed _my_ wife! He stole _my_ daughter! He has _my_ son, and you have no fucking clue what is happening to him right now while we sit here fucking talking!” Goku was amazed to see tears of rage in the corners of his friend’s eyes. “I will not have you tagging along like a fucking puppy on an adventure. This is not _fun_ ,” he spat. “This is not some exciting new challenge. Everything is on the line for me. _Everything!_ And the last thing I need is you coming along because you are bored and want a good fight.” He gave Goku a final shove for emphasis, then let go and turned away.

 _That’s what he thinks this is?_ Goku thought incredulously. The coal of his anger burst into a flame, and he shot a rebuke at Vegeta’s back. “You really think I’m coming just because I wanna fight Frieza for fun? I want to _help_ , Vegeta. I know how dangerous he is.”

Vegeta turned back to face him. His voice was arctic. “If you actually took Frieza seriously, we wouldn’t be here.”

Goku reared back at the blow. _That was different_ , he thought. _That was before…this_. His fist clenched, and with a tight jaw he growled, “You aren’t the only one who lost something here, Vegeta. Bulma was my friend. She was my first friend, and she meant more to me than you know. I’m not gonna just wait here for you to go get yourself killed.”

“YOU ARE NOT TAKING THIS FROM ME!” Vegeta roared.

“And you’re not shutting me out!” Goku retorted. “It’s not a damn contest, Vegeta!”

“I’m not having you get in my way. I won’t tell you again.” He stepped forward threateningly.

“And how exactly do you plan on stopping me?”

The air was sparking with the raised energy emanating from the two Saiyans as they locked eyes in a silent battle of wills. Both men were tensed, muscles clenched, ready to escalate to blows. No one dared to speak as they watched the unspoken conflict, waiting to see if it was going to explode into brutal violence.

At the point where the tension was stretched to the breaking point, relief came from an unexpected source. Goku heard his son take in a soft gasp, his eyes widening slightly. “Wait,” said Gohan. “Maybe the Dragon Balls can’t be used to undo other wishes…but what if we could override them?”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘override’?”

“What if we used something more powerful to make our wishes?”

Piccolo was the first to understand. He nodded. “The Super Dragon Balls. They can grant any wish. _Any_ wish.”

A faint ray of hope began to bud in Goku’s heart. His eyes met Vegeta’s, where he saw the same thread beginning to rise. “They could undo it,” Vegeta whispered. “We could bring her back.” 

Goku’s anger ebbed. Softly, he said, “We can gather them faster with more people, Vegeta.”

The older Saiyan’s shoulders relaxed, his face softening slightly. “Yes. We could,” he admitted. “Fine. We have two ships. I’ll take one and the rest of you can use the other.”

“I’m coming with you, Vegeta,” Goku asserted.

Vegeta glared at him, but he kept his gaze steady. The others held their breath, waiting for the explosion, but to everyone’s surprise Vegeta’s eyes were the first to slide away.

Vegeta huffed in annoyance. “Do what you want, Kakarot. Boy,” he said in Gohan’s direction, “do you think you can figure out how to fly the ship, if I give you Bul-“ He cut off with a flinch. “If I give you some notes?” he finished.

“Um, yeah, probably,” Gohan said.

“Good. You take the Namekian with you. If you find anything about Frieza you fucking call me, understand?” Gohan nodded.

“What about the rest of us? What can we do?” asked Yamcha.

Vegeta briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Stay the fuck out of my way, that’s what you can do,” he growled.

Goku looked apologetically at him. “Can you set up a sort of base camp so we can make sure we are in touch? And look in on Goten and Pan—make sure they’re okay?” Yamcha looked miserable, but nodded.

The moment of silence that followed was broken by Piccolo. “Not to be a killjoy, but how are we supposed to find and collect seven planet-sized things, half of which probably don’t even exist in our universe?”

“I don’t know,” said Vegeta curtly. “But I know who does.” He looked at Goku.

“I should be able to get there, I think,” he answered.

“Good.” Vegeta turned back to Gohan. “Everything you need will be in the lab, boy. Get the Super Dragon Radar and any instructions that you need to prep the ships. Let’s go, Kakarot.”

“Right.” He put one hand on Vegeta’s shoulder, brought his other toward his forehead. 

“Wait, where are you guys going?” asked Krillin.

Vegeta grimaced in a tight smile. “To see an angel,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
>
>> Frieza tittered. “How sweet. You have such faith in Vegeta, don’t you?” he said, his cold hand reaching out to caress Trunks's cheek. In a mockery of a fatherly voice, he said, “It’s all right, child. You’ll learn.”
> 
> Thank you to blackswans22 for helping to make this chapter 1000x better than it was in first draft!
> 
> As always, I love comments!


	3. In Which a Purpose is Assigned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks awakens in an unfamiliar place. What does Frieza have in store for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains descriptions of violence toward a child that are slightly more graphic than those found in canon. Please read at your own discretion.

The first thing he felt was the floor, cold and rough against his cheek. His eyes opened, showing a view of corrugated metal. In front of him was a pair of feet—or at least, something like feet. Not human. Not Saiyan either. These had three large toes, white skin. Purple toenails.

Trunks pushed himself into a sitting position. His head ached—what had happened? He remembered coming home from Goten’s place and getting a snack from the fridge, when he’d felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck. A familiar pain. _Someone knocked me out_ , he thought. Looking up, he realized who it must have been. In front of him stood a small but powerful creature, wearing a twisted smile on his face. 

“Ah, it’s awake.” He smiled as Trunks struggled to stand. “Do you know who I am, little monkey?” he asked.

Trunks remembered the day he and Goten had followed an enormous energy signature, only to find an invading army. “You’re Frieza. I know who you are.”

“Oh, goody. I was afraid I was going to have to introduce myself, and I hate doing that.”

“What am I doing here?” asked Trunks, bringing his hand to his head in an attempt to stop the whirling of the world around him.

Frieza chuckled. “I brought you, of course. You’re on my ship. You’re mine now.”

“But, why?” The boy felt like he was missing something important. “I thought…Aren’t you one of the good guys now?”

Frieza threw back his head and laughed like Trunks had just told the funniest joke in the universe. “One of the ‘good guys’? Oh heavens, where in the world did you get that impression? No, terribly sorry. Still very much a ‘bad guy.’ Oh yes,” he said, his demeanor suddenly shifting from amusement to malice. “I am very much not on your side, child. In fact, you may be interested to know that when I took you from your home, I had already killed your mother.”

Trunks froze. “My…my mom? You…killed my mom?” His mind struggled over this statement. In Trunks’ world, things like this didn’t happen. Moms didn’t die. At least, not for more than a few hours. His mom…can’t be dead. Not really. Maybe he only killed her a little. But she’d be okay.

“Hmm, yes, I’m afraid so. Not that it matters for you either way. You’ll never be going back to that little mudball of a planet.”

 _Mom. Not mom. Not my mommy._ Images flashed through his head of his mother smiling, telling him bedtime stories when he was younger, helping him with his homework, bringing him and Dad snacks while they trained. His mother, who could cow an angry Saiyan, who invited angels to lunch, who wasn’t afraid to smack a god for being an ass. Dead. Because of this bastard in front of him.

The burn of grief and wrath enveloped him and on instinct he opened his ki to ride it to his full power, his hair turning bright gold and the air around him glowing with energy. With a guttural scream of rage, he launched himself at Frieza. He was going to kill this monster. He was going to tear him to shreds, to pound him into the ground, to turn him into no more than a smear of blood and tissue.

At least, that’s what he had planned.

He threw his fist toward Frieza’s face, every ounce of power and strength behind it. Faster than he could track, Frieza sidestepped the blow and chopped a hand into his back. Trunks smashed into the floor with the impact of a meteor hitting the earth, and he gasped to replace the air that had been knocked out of his lungs. _He’s strong,_ thought Trunks. _I didn’t think he’d be that strong._

Still, his anger ached for a release and drove him back to his feet. Again, he launched into a flurry of punches and kicks, hoping to at least knock the lizard out of his smug complacency. But Frieza simply leaned casually out of the way of each strike, indifferent to the boy’s anger.

“Is this really the best you can do, child?” Frieza admonished. “What happened to that so-called ‘Saiyan pride’? Honestly, I expected better from Vegeta’s son. He must have gotten soft without me.” He punctuated the statement with a punch to the boy’s chest that drove him against the far wall. The sound of the ringing steel reverberated through his skull; he even felt his _teeth_ vibrating.

“I’ll kill you!” shouted Trunks as the tyrant’s words drove him even further into his anger. Gathering his ki he struck out with a ball of bright energy, which was batted away like a stray insect. It deflected into the wall and exploded. Frieza frowned, then flickered across the room to Trunks and struck him with a fist to the gut. The boy buckled, dropping to his hands and knees and struggling desperately not to vomit. His hair faded from gold to purple as he lost the concentration to maintain his ascended form.

“I’ll thank you not to destroy my ship, boy,” Frieza snarled. “While I can survive the vacuum of space, neither you nor the rest of my crew are so talented, and you can’t imagine how tedious I find recruiting new help.” 

Trunks fought to regain his breath. He gasped out, “You’re gonna get your butt kicked back to hell when my dad finds me.”

A hand threaded into his purple hair, and pain ripped across his scalp as he was lifted into the air until he was face-to-face with his tormentor. “How sweet. You still have such faith in Vegeta, don’t you?” His cold hand reached out to caress Trunks’ cheek. In a mockery of a fatherly voice, he said, “It’s all right. You’ll learn.”

“My dad’s the best fighter in the universe. He’ll kill you.”

“Oh, child. I _do_ miss your daddy. He was my favorite pet for quite some time, did you know that? He always refused to scream at first. I think that was the thing I liked most, the way he always pretended that I wasn’t going to be able to make him scream.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” blustered Trunks. _Dad will come. He’ll come and he’ll save me and everything will be okay._

“Aren’t you a stubborn one? Not that I’m surprised. You Saiyans are nothing if not persistent.” He smiled with eyes narrowed. “Always so convinced of your own superiority, even in the face of contrary evidence.” With that, he struck out with a fist. It struck Trunks square in the face with more power than he had ever felt before, filling his skull with the hideous crunch of cartilage snapping. His vision exploded into stars and hot blood gushed from his nose, trickling into his mouth and dripping onto the cold floor. 

The grip on his hair released, and he fell bonelessly to the floor, gasping in pain. Through the sound of blood pounding in his ears, he heard Frieza chuckle. “Funny little monkey. I think you are going to be a favorite, too.”

Trunks closed his eyes as they filled with hot tears of anger and despair. In his head, he heard his father’s voice. _“Frieza’s turned over a new leaf, son. He’s…he’s one of the good guys now._ ” Why? Why had Dad said that? And why hadn’t Trunks heard the way he was choking on the lie?

“You are far too weak to hurt me, child.” Frieza’s voice held an infuriating note of pity. “Believe me, I admire your tenacity. It allows for such entertainment. But really, there comes a point at which perseverance transforms into obstinance. You’re acting as though you honestly thought you had any hope of victory.”

Trunks forced himself to speak, though his tongue was thick with pain. He felt something in his nose rattle disturbingly with every word. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m stronger than you think.”

He heard Frieza scoff. “Child, if you were as strong as you think you are, you wouldn’t be here.” A mockingly false pity oozed into his voice. “If you were strong, your mother would still be alive, wouldn’t she?” Trunks flinched at his words, guilt filling him. He should have been there. He should have protected her. His father would be so disappointed in him. His father…

_He’s turned over a new leaf, son; he’s one of the good guys now._

“But don’t despair, little monkey. Hope is not lost. You see, if I’ve learned anything from dealing with you filthy simians, it’s that your pathetic tenacity could, if properly channeled, be exceedingly useful to me. I learned that much in that silly Tournament you people dragged me into.”

The ringing in Trunks’ head was not helping his comprehension. Frieza was talking as though Trunks should know what he meant. “What tournament? What are you talking about?”

That actually stopped Frieza cold. He stared at Trunks with curiosity. “Did they not tell you about the Tournament of Power? The battle to save our universe from divine obliteration?” Trunks simply blinked at him, confusion written on his battered face.

Frieza threw his head back and laughed, the first true amusement he’d shown. “Oh, this is too good. Vegeta never even told you it was happening, did he? Not even when it was over and we’d won. Kept it secret from his own son, as though you were a tender nursling who must be kept from worry." He gave a final chuckle. "Poor little monkey. Too weak to be trusted with knowledge of danger.”

 _No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t lie to me like that._ The implicit betrayal burned in his chest. _Dad wouldn’t…_

_He’s turned over a new leaf, son._

_A new leaf._

“Come with me, boy. I have something for you to see that you may find interesting.” Frieza grabbed Trunks by the arm and hauled him to his feet. An iron grip held the back of his neck while Frieza steered him to one side of the large room. He pressed a few buttons and a piece of the wall slid back, revealing a large viewing window. “Something else I learned at the Tournament—my ambitions have been far too small.”

Outside, Trunks saw the blackness of space dotted by stars. A yellow sun, larger than Earth’s, burned in the distance. Below the ship, something shone against the darkness. At first, Trunks thought they were in orbit around a planet. But this planet was too smooth, too even. Too golden. And in the center, barely visible at this angle, floated four red stars.

“It’s a Dragon Ball. A huge Dragon Ball,” Trunks said breathlessly. The sight was astounding, the golden surface glowing in reflected light from the nearby sun so beautiful, that Trunks momentarily forgot where he was, who he was with. The pain faded to the background. 

“More than that,” Frieza said beside him. His voice for once held no malice; rather, it was filled with a strange and almost captivating hunger. “These hold far more power than the baubles you have on Earth. More power than I once could have even imagined. With this power, I could challenge the gods themselves.”

He turned and smiled at the boy next to him. “And if you prove useful enough, I will make you stronger than you could ever imagine.”

The viewscreen slid shut, breaking the spell. Trunks let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Blinking, he frowned. “Why show me that? What exactly do you think I’m going to do for you?” demanded Trunks.

Frieza tittered. The mocking smile and tone of voice returned as he said, “You, child, are going to help me gather the rest of them.”

Trunks stared at him. “You expect me to help you?” he said incredulously. This guy expected his help? The evil bastard that had killed his mother expected _his help_? The anger that had been suppressed by the sight of the Dragon Ball rolled back into him like a tsunami. “You’re joking. I’d _never_ help a monster like you.” With a yell, he launched into a volley of attacks.

“Hm. Disappointing.” Frieza pursed his lips with a sigh as he easily moved out of the way of the incoming blows. In frustration, Trunks poured as much ki as he could muster into his hand. He felt the buzz of energy in his fist, and threw a ferocious punch toward Frieza’s chest. The lizard’s hand came up, casually stopping the punch with his palm.

Trunks saw his lips curl in a sneer before the hand closed over his with an adamantine grip. “But not surprising. Monkeys never know what’s best for themselves. They always require such a troublesome amount of correction.” With that, he tightened his fist painfully, ripping a cry of pain out of the boy’s throat. 

“You will be working for me, boy,” spat Frieza. With that, Frieza lifted him high into the air by his hand, then swung him effortlessly to the ground. His head slammed into the steel floor with an audible crack. “You will do as I say and you will _behave_.”

Trunks was sure he had a concussion; he hoped his skull wasn’t actually cracked. Despite his blurred vision and ringing ears, Trunks forced himself to his knees. “I’d rather die.”

Frieza smirked. “That would defeat the purpose, little pet.”

“Trunks.”

Frieza tilted his head in confusion. “What was that, child?”

“My name is Trunks.”

A smirk spread over the tyrant’s face. “How cute. It thinks I care what its monkey parents called it.” He leaned down, grabbing the boy’s jaw with a firm grip. “You are my pet now, child. Your name is ‘monkey.’ That is all you will be called while you are on my ship, and that is what you will respond to.” He let go and pat Trunks on the cheek in an almost caring fashion. “However, if you behave and learn well, perhaps you can earn your name back in the future.” He straightened. “Now, stand up, little monkey.”

Trunks remained kneeling. “Trunks.”

Frieza sighed. “Why must you idiotic primates be so headstrong?” he lamented. He drew back his foot, and Trunks was thrust back down against the floor. “I said stand up, monkey.”

Trunks swayed as he pushed himself from the floor. Still, he remained on the ground. “And I said, my name is Trunks.”

Frieza’s voice retained its humor, but his face was twisting into anger. “You are trying my patience, monkey. Not a good idea.”

Frieza grabbed Trunks’ left arm just above the wrist and spun him around, pulling his arm behind him in a joint lock. A shot of pain went through Trunks’ left shoulder, not yet excruciating but with the promise of more. “Now, I won’t tell you again. _Stand_.”

“You can’t make me,” Trunks said.

“Oh, my sweet little monkey. So much like your father. The same lies.”

Frieza planted a foot on his back between the shoulder blades and pressed down. Trunks panted through the torment as the pressure in his left shoulder increased. “However, as you admire your father so much, allow me to provide you with a little bonding experience. Shall I show you the present I gave him when he was around your age?” His grip on Trunks’ arm tightened, and his foot thrust brutally downward. The shoulder exploded with pain as Trunks felt the bone pull from its joint, and the boy couldn’t help but scream in agony.

Frieza’s voice had lost all traces of humor, exposing the bare anger and hatred beneath. “Now, monkey. Beg me for mercy.”

In all his twelve years, Trunks had never known pain like this. He couldn’t keep himself from sobbing as he managed one last bout of defiance. “You’ll never get me to beg, Frieza.”

Frieza ignored him and kept pulling on the arm, twisting the ruined shoulder over and over in ways it was never meant to move. Over the sound of his own screams, Trunks heard the tyrant’s rebuke, voice glacial with malice.

“Foolish child. You have no _idea_ what I am capable of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
>
>> “What the fuck do you mean, you can’t get involved?” Vegeta demanded in a controlled voice. “After everything she’s done for you, you’re just going to turn your back on her? You’re supposed to be her _friend_.”
>> 
>> The angel shrugged. “Yes, she was my friend. And she was a mortal. Mortals die, that’s simply the nature of things.”
> 
> Comments welcome and encouraged! 


	4. In Which a Price is Agreed Upon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goku and Vegeta seek divine assistance.

Goku and Vegeta arrived in the familiar garden at the base of the great tree. Small moons hung like pearls in the rose-colored sky, and the faint smell of sand was carried on the light breeze that ruffled the lush purple vegetation and disturbed the smooth surface of the small lake nearby. As always, Goku found himself torn between comfort and unease by the strange surroundings.

Before them, Whis sat upright at a small cafe table, drinking something out of a very fancy teacup. Next to him, Beerus lounged on a chaise. Both looked quite surprised at their arrival.

“Goodness. I hardly expected you two back so soon. And uninvited, too.” Whis’s refined voice held a tinge of reproach.

Vegeta stepped forward, speaking rapidly as though barking orders to a subordinate. “We need the Super Dragon Balls. I need you to show us how to collect them. And I need you to help me find someone.”

Whis looked unimpressed. “My, Vegeta. So demanding. It’s not like you. And very impolite, I might add.”

Vegeta snarled. “I don’t care about politeness. Are you going to help or not?”

Goku broke in, trying to salvage the situation from Vegeta’s bluntness. “What he means is, it’s really important or we wouldn’t interrupt ya, Whis. Sorry about all this. But we really need your help.”

The angel looked somewhat mollified. Beerus simply looked annoyed. “What the hell is the problem, Saiyan?” he asked languidly.

“It’s...Bulma.” Vegeta’s voice grew thick, and his eyes dropped to the ground. “She’s…dead. Murdered.”

Goku caught a strange look flit between Whis and Beerus. “My, my. How terrible,” murmured the angel.

“So you’ll help me,” insisted Vegeta.

“Hmm. I’m afraid I can’t do that, Vegeta. I’m simply not allowed to get involved in these sorts of things.”

 _Uh-oh_ , Goku thought. He could feel the ki spiking as Vegeta processed the angel’s words.

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t get involved?” Vegeta demanded in a controlled voice. “After everything she’s done for you, you’re going to turn your back on her? You’re supposed to be her _friend_.”

The angel shrugged. “Yes, she was my friend. And she was a mortal. Mortals die, that’s simply the nature of things.”

There was a pause just long enough for Goku to see exactly what was coming. _Dang it, Vegeta._

Vegeta gave no warning; the attack was sudden and brutal, and yet utterly unsurprising. With a snarl of rage he launched himself at the angel; Whis, unrattled, simply reached a finger out and stopped him cold with a touch to his forehead. Vegeta froze, his eyes wide. Goku watched with growing alarm as Vegeta’s face grew pale and grey. He clutched his chest, grimacing with pain as sweat beaded on his forehead, and fell to his knees. Whis simply looked at him with a distinct lack of sympathy. “Tsk. Very rude. You should know better, Vegeta, really. Now, in the interest of our remaining friends, I suggest you don’t try that again.”

“Whis! Stop it! You’re killing him!” Goku said, panicked, as he moved to support his friend.

Vegeta dropped flat onto the ground as Whis released him, holding his chest and gasping for breath. _Whis stopped his heart_ , Goku thought with a chill. He felt his own muscles tensing, and his fists began to itch. He stood to face the angel. Incredulous, he demanded, “You’re really just gonna send us on our way, then? You’re not gonna help at all?” 

Whis gave him an even look, his eyebrow raised in the slightest arch. “No.”

“Please, guys! It’s not just--just Bulma. Frieza took Trunks and Bulla, too. We gotta get ‘em back!”

Was it him, or did the angel look...a little guilty? He certainly wasn’t surprised. Goku frowned. He felt his chest burning and his teeth clenched together. “I can’t believe you. I never thought-” He broke off angrily. “Okay, then. If you won’t help I’ll have to find someone who will.” Goku reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red button. “Zenny’ll give us a hand. An’ I’ll let him know how much you both helped us.”

At this, Whis’s face finally dropped out of its complacent expression. In a second, he was next to Goku, seizing his arm in a surprisingly painful grip. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Goku,” he said, a thread of anger running through his elegant voice.

“Oh yeah? Why not, if you’re not gonna help us?”

Whis’s voice was low, filled with warning. “Don’t be stupid, Goku. You have fooled yourself into thinking your ‘friendship’ with Lord Zeno is a two-way affair. I assure you this is not the case. The life of a mortal means less than nothing to him, and if you press him on such an insignificant request, one that will in no way amuse him, I guarantee to you that your usefulness will be over and you, and all you love, will be utterly annihilated.” 

“Zenny wouldn’t do that!” Goku exclaimed, taken aback.

“He can, and he will,” insisted Whis. “If you try to push that button to summon Lord Zeno, I’m afraid I will have no choice but to stop you.” The look on the angel’s face was deadly serious, and a shiver went up Goku’s back.

Vegeta struggled to his feet, still breathing heavily. Goku saw him briefly consider, then discard, attacking again. “You...bastards,” he gasped out. “You,” he turned specifically to Whis. “You could bring her back right here, right now. I know you could. I’m not even asking for that much. And still you refuse. You let her die and yet resurrect her murderer without hesitation.” Vegeta seemed to be on the verge of tears from frustration, and Goku felt not far from it himself.

The slightest hint of remorse creased Whis’s brow at Vegeta’s words. “The resurrection of Frieza was...a special circumstance. I am not typically allowed to either cause nor reverse the death of mortals. I-” The angel hesitated the slightest moment before continuing, “I am not permitted to interfere in this situation. There are...reasons I cannot disclose.”

Vegeta closed his eyes, apparently trying to prevent himself from reacting in a way that would lead to his heart stopping again. After a deep breath, he opened them and spoke, biting off his words. “Fine. I’ll do it myself, then. But don’t think I’ll forget this. Or forgive.”

Whis appeared regretful but unmoved. “I’m sorry to hear that, Vegeta. I suppose this means I won’t see you again for training. A shame; I was beginning to enjoy your presence here.”

Goku said, “Yeah, I don’t think you’ll see either of us again, actually. I’m really disappointed in both of ya. C’mon, Vegeta.” He began to move his arm to transport them home.

“Wait.”

Beerus uncurled himself from the comfort of his chair for the first time. He approached the two men with a dangerous grace, his eyes locking with Vegeta’s. “You know, Whis, I think we might help after all.”

The angel was disconcerted. “My Lord?” he asked.

Beerus stopped directly in front of Vegeta, his eyes never leaving the other’s. “On reflection, I believe we can help. For a price.”

A low growl started in Vegeta’s chest. Tightly, he said, “A price. What price, Beerus?”

A small, predatory smile appeared on the god’s face. “You know what I want, Saiyan.”

Goku was confused. He looked at the god, then at his friend. Vegeta seemed to know what was meant, and to Goku’s shock, he looked...afraid. The hesitation stretched on, fear and anger and need warring with each other in Vegeta’s expression as he seemed to turn over the consequences in his mind.

Slowly, the hesitation on Vegeta’s face turned into adamant resolve. “Yes. I know what you want.” A steeling of his shoulders showed his acceptance of whatever the two were sharing. “I accept your bargain. But _I_ decide when, Beerus. Not you. And it will not be soon.”

The battle of wills finished, the god turned away and shrugged a shoulder in acceptance. “As you wish. I don’t really care when. Whis, give them what they need.” With that, Beerus went back to his chair, curled up, and closed his eyes.

Whis looked surprised and discomfited. “Very well. My Lord has spoken.”

“Then...you’ll help us?” asked Goku. He didn’t understand what had just happened, but if it helped them find the Super Dragon Balls, or the kids, he wasn’t going to argue.

“Apparently.” Whis’s staff glowed for a moment, and suddenly Goku found himself seated at a table laden with snacks. Vegeta grunted in surprise from the seat next to him; Whis was seated across from them both with his teacup once again in his hand.

Goku shook his head to dispel the disorientation as Whis began to speak. “You are both, of course, familiar with the use of the Super Dragon Balls, as you call them. Or, as they are better known to my kind, the Artifacts. Speak the words in the angelic language, and the Great Dragon appears. Ask your wish, and he will grant it.

“What you may not know, however, is the nature of the Artifacts. You are familiar, of course, with the seven contained within the paired Sixth and Seventh Universes. These seven are a shadow of the true Artifacts. Or perhaps, it is better to say they are a facet of them. There are facets in each set of paired universes, but each facet is part of the whole. Understand so far?”

Goku blinked. “Um...no. What’s a ‘facet’?” He grabbed a leg of some kind of roasted meat from a tray and began to devour it. He was hungry.

“Just...shut up, idiot. I understand,” Vegeta said to Whis, twirling his finger to indicate impatience for the angel to continue. “So they’re three-dimensional projections of a multidimensional object. So what?” He colored slightly as the others looked at him with astonishment. “What, you think I lived with Bulma Briefs for fourteen years without learning dimensional theory?”

Whis gave a small shake of his head before continuing. “They are, as you say, multidimensional objects. And yet, they are more than this. They were crafted countless ages ago by the Dragon God Zalama, and they are a physical manifestation of pure divine will.”

“Great. I’m fascinated,” Vegeta growled dryly. “Who the hell cares? Why the history lesson, Whis?”

“Perhaps I am being too technical. The point is, they cannot be manipulated as though they were a simple bit of matter. The only way you will be able to move the Artifacts is through either divine magic such as I wield, or through the manipulation of the fabric of reality itself.”

“You mean space-time,” said Vegeta. “So? Do you have something to help us or not?”

Whis sighed and muttered something under his breath. Goku only caught something about “why I even bother” before he spoke up again. “Yes, I have something for you. I cannot use divine magic to move them in this circumstance, but I do have an alternate method.”

Whis’s staff glowed again, and something appeared in his free hand. He handed each man a small object. Goku examined it; it seemed to be shaped like a small flat teapot, about the size of his palm. The pot was made of shining bronze, entirely sealed except for the opening on the tip of an ornate spout. The surface was embossed in strange runes, except for the very top; that surface was entirely smooth except for one intricate carving. 

The more he held it, the less Goku liked it. It was heavy, for one thing. Heavier than it should have been. Warm. The kind of warmth that you found at the center of a rotting compost pile. And it was moving. Vibrating. Goku swore he almost heard the thing hum. He looked at Vegeta, seeing his own discomfort reflected back.

“These will help you collect the Super Dragon Balls,” said Whis. “Simply aim the spout of either one at the surface of the ball and brush your thumb over the sigil.” He pointed toward the intricate pattern. “The ball will be drawn into...well, think of it as a small ‘pocket’ of reality. Similar to the “evil containment wave” your friend used at the tournament, really, except that you may store as many Artifacts as you need inside.

Whis continued, “These will store any number or type of objects. This includes living creatures, but be cautious. The warping of reality caused within is...unstable. Non-living things like the balls will be safe there, but it is unlikely that anything living will survive. Certainly not while remaining sane. This includes yourself, so do please be careful where you aim the spout.” 

Vegeta leaned over and silently plucked the pot out of Goku’s hand. Ignoring Goku’s indignant protests, he said, “How do we get them out when we need them?”

“When you need to retrieve the Artifacts, simply aim the spouts in the proper direction and tap the two sigils together.” He gave a cool smile. “Be sure to only do so where there is plenty of space for them.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t release the ‘instability’ you mentioned, will it?”

Whis gave a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, Vegeta. That only happened the once, and I am fairly certain we fixed that problem.”

Goku’s eyes widened, and he scratched the back of his head nervously. “Don’tcha have something a little safer, Whis?”

“I’m afraid not, Goku. The only other way you could use to transport the balls is unfortunately through modulation of the sonance and that is absolutely out of the question, as it is virtually impossible for even me to control.” Goku blinked. He was pretty sure that meant “No” but it was hard to tell for sure.

“What about the balls in the Sixth?” he asked. “We’re gonna need those, right? How do we get there?”

Whis brought his index finger to rest against his chin. “Hmm. A good question, Goku. Normally, I would say I could transport you via divine magic. But currently I’m afraid that isn’t an option. However…” he trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. “However, I believe that given a bit of time an alternative can be devised. Begin with the Seventh and I will contact you once I have your necessary transport available.”

Vegeta had been twitching with impatience, and he broke in. “What about Freiza? I need to find him, Whis. Now.”

Whis grimaced. “I’m sorry, Vegeta. That is not something I can help you with, I’m afraid.”

Goku could see that answer did not sit well with his friend. His eyebrows furrowed even deeper, and he slammed his palms on the table. “Dammit, Whis! He has my children!”

“Yes. I know. And I am sorry, truly. But I do not have a way to find him. That is beyond my scope of power. I am not omnipotent, Vegeta.”

“Can you at least tell me...do you know...are they-” He broke off, unwilling to give voice to the fear as though that would make it come true. For a brief moment, the anger on his face cracked, showing the fear beneath.

“As far as I can tell, they are both alive.”

“Unharmed?”

Whis was silent a moment before answering. “Bulla is unharmed.”

The crash of the table was deafening against the relative quiet as Vegeta threw it across the garden with a wordless shout. Silently he stalked to the edge of the lake, staring blankly across it. Goku began to rise from his seat, but Whis motioned him down. “Leave him for now, Goku. He has a right to be upset. Vegeta knows better than anyone how Frieza treats his recruits.” 

_How Frieza treats his recruits._ The words echoed through Goku’s mind, the meaning suddenly hitting him with force. Vegeta had never wanted to talk much about his time with Frieza. It was obvious it hadn’t been pleasant, but Goku had never really thought much about the details. His own childhood hadn’t been exactly easy, and he’d gotten hurt a lot. Plenty of people had tried to harm him, even kill him. But no one like Frieza. No one even close to Frieza.

He remembered the horror he’d felt on Namek when he met the tyrant for the first time. Seeing him toy with Vegeta, then casually murder him without a thought. Seeing him kill Krillin, horribly. And enjoying it all. It had been so awful it had triggered an anger in him he’d never known before. Even back then, though, everything Frieza had done was done fast. It had been over quickly. Vegeta had been under him for _years_. Decades. Under the control of that sadistic creature.

And now, so was Trunks. Goku had known Trunks was in danger, of course. Knew he could be hurt, even killed. And he was worried about the kid, a lot. But he realized he’d been thinking about Trunks being locked up somewhere. Maybe roughed up, like he’d been after some of the fights the boys had jumped into. Bruised. A little bloodied. 

_But that’s not what's happening this time, is it?_ A chill ran through Goku as he thought of the scars etched all over Vegeta’s skin. The lash marks on his back. And the ones that lay deeper. He shut his eyes with the realization. Vegeta was right. He hadn’t really taken Frieza seriously. But he wasn’t the one paying the price for it.

He remembered the panic when Gohan had been taken; the feeling that if he didn’t do something--anything--soon he’d crawl out of his skin or explode. He’d been frantic with the thought of how scared his son must be, with the fear that Gohan would be hurt. But he hadn’t _known_. He hadn’t been able to picture _exactly_ the tortures the boy was suffering. And he didn’t know until now how lucky he had been.

Goku swallowed hard, and looked over to where his friend was standing, head down and body trembling. His eyes burned at the thought of what Vegeta must be going through. _By all the Kais, if it were Goten I would tear this place apart to keep him from being hurt._ Earlier, he had been annoyed with Vegeta’s volatility. The way he snapped and snarled at everyone, even when they were trying to help. But now he was beginning to marvel at his self-restraint.

After a moment, Vegeta returned, his composure restored. “All right. So you can’t help us find Frieza. Fine. Back to my first plan for that, I suppose.”

Whis thought for a moment. “I cannot tell you where Frieza is,” he said finally. “But I can tell you that if you seek the Artifacts, you will almost certainly find him. There is more happening-” The angel broke off suddenly and tilted his head to the side, as though listening to a voice only audible to him. His brows pulled together in consternation, and he frowned. Looking back at the two men, he gave a frustrated sigh and said, “I am not permitted to say more. Seek the Artifacts, and you will find what you need.”

Whis stood and smiled, a more genuine expression than he had so far given. “Very well, that is all. I have every confidence that you will prevail, Goku and Vegeta. You are some of the best students I have ever had the pleasure of teaching, and I certainly hope this means our friendship will not end. You are always welcome here.” 

It was a clear dismissal. Wordlessly, the Saiyans returned home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
>
>>   
> Frieza laughed in his strangely elegant fashion. “You’ll learn, little monkey. I know you can learn to be just wonderful at murder. After all, it’s in your blood. Vegeta was one of my top men for genocide.”
>> 
>> That wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.  
> 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely blackswans22 for your beta talents!  
> More action soon, I promise! If you want more Author's Notes, [check here](https://avechameleon.blogspot.com/2021/01/through-seven-gates-ch-4.html) (there's a nice picture of the collecting pots) 


	5. In Which a History is Made Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks, confused by pain and isolation, is informed about his father's past.

Forty-two.

Forty-two times the small grate on the door had opened since he’d been placed in here. Sometimes to push in a plate of food. Sometimes to remove one. Sometimes for no reason he could determine at all.

He didn’t know how often the openings came. There was no light; no day, no night, no change at all. Just darkness. He’d slept...nine times? Nine. He was pretty sure. He didn’t know for how long. He knew that he’d been fed fifteen times. He didn’t know how often the food came. Sometimes it seemed close enough to the last time that he could think about how tasteless the food was while he ate. Sometimes it seemed so far apart that he could feel his stomach trying to consume itself while he waited. He’d never been this hungry. There’d always been food, at home.

Trunks shivered, hugging the thin blanket around himself. 

His shoulder ached in the cold. Frieza had pulled for a long time. Hours. Days. At least, that’s how it had felt. Pulling and twisting and bending as he’d screamed until he passed out, eventually, from the pain. Trunks knew pain. He’d been hurt a lot in his twelve years of life. And not just the scrapes and bruises he got while training in the gravity room with his father or sparring with Goten. But this pain had been different. Brighter. More complete. When he'd passed out, that had been enough for Frieza to lose interest, and he had been taken to a cell where he had lain in a cot for...he wasn't sure. It had hurt too much to notice.

Eventually, after he began to shiver with the onset of fever someone dragged him to a strange tank of blue liquid. In the tank it got better. The blue liquid stung his eyes when he opened them, so he tried to keep them shut. Easier to do at the beginning when the swelling from the crushed nose hadn't yet subsided. Air was fed to him through a mask. The mask was not airtight; bubbles escaped when he breathed out. Somehow the little details he could notice had distracted him from the pain.

When he’d been mostly healed, they’d pulled him out and taken him to this room. His clothes were gone from being in the tank, so the thin blanket he’d found was his only cover. It wasn’t enough. He’d never been this cold. It had always been warm, at home. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed. It was dark. There was no light except what had snuck in forty-two times. When the grate opened. Sometimes he saw lights even when the door was closed. But they weren’t real. He’d tried to find them at first. But he knew better now. They weren’t real.

And it was quiet. There was no sound other than what he made himself. Sometimes he thought he heard voices. But they weren’t real. He almost missed the soft bubbling of the healing tank. He almost missed being in the throne room, despite the pain. At least he’d had someone to talk to. There’d always been someone to talk to. At home.

He tried again to reach out, to sense someone’s ki. Anyone. To reassure himself that there were people out there. That the world existed beyond this dark room with its bare fixtures, and the scrape of the grate opening. Forty-two times. But there was nothing. Nothing. _I’m not alone_ , he assured himself. _I can’t be alone. Someone has to be there to open the grate. Someone has to be there to make the food, to push it in._ But he couldn’t feel them. Couldn’t feel anyone at all. Trunks choked back a sob. _I’m not alone. Dad is out there. Somewhere. He’s coming for me. He’s coming._

When the new sound came, it was so loud and unfamiliar Trunks didn’t understand what was happening at first. The clunk, the scrape far louder than the opening of the grate. And the light—so bright Trunks had to close his eyes against the pain. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. The door had opened. Not the grate; the whole door. The light coming through outlined a humanoid figure, tall and thin. When the figure spoke, Trunks was so grateful at the proof that he was not alone that he had to blink back tears.

“Are you hungry?” The figure came over and squatted down next to him.

Trunks thought for a moment. Yes. Yes, he was very hungry. He tried to speak but his voice wouldn’t come, so he only nodded.

“Then let’s get you fed.” The voice was not kind, exactly, but neither was it cruel. As his eyes were adjusting, Trunks could better make out the new visitor. He was grey-skinned, with narrow eyes, thin lips, and protrusions where ears would be. Trunks blinked. He looked...familiar. “Do-” he paused, coughing at the use of his unused voice. “Do I know you?”

The man gave a thin but amused smile as he handed Trunks a bowl of some kind of tasteless porridge. “In a way. You headbutted me in the crotch once.”

 _Oh. Oh yeah._ Gotenks had done that. He remembered. But that guy- “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” He began eating, slowly at first. But soon his stomach had gotten used to being used and he was shoveling the porridge in as fast as he could.

The guy—what was his name? Tamago? Tamari?—gave a soft laugh. “Yes. But my Lord Frieza saw fit to resurrect me. It seems he had an extra wish, and thought well of my loyalty. I am truly honored.” Tagoma. That was it. “And now he has seen fit to honor you as well. Lord Frieza has decided to personally attend to your education. That’s a distinction few receive. You are a very lucky child.”

Trunks paused eating and stared at him in disbelief. “You expect me to be, what, _happy_ about this? He killed my mom and kidnapped me, and you try to tell me I'm _lucky_?”

Tagoma put his hand on Trunks’ shoulder. “You are upset. Understandable. I was upset when my Lord chose me, but I learned gratitude eventually. I was weak before, you see. Lord Frieza made me strong.”

“Well, I’m not grateful. That bastard can die for all I care.” A spark of anger flared in Tagoma’s eyes, but it was tamped down quickly.

“You’ll change your mind. Eventually.” He turned to grab a bundle sitting near the door that Trunks hadn’t previously noticed. “Here, put this on. Lord Frieza wants to see you.”

Trunks unfolded the bundle, to see a set of armor. His heart clenched at the similarity to his father’s. Not too similar; the colors were a little different—deep red where his father’s was blue, the armor highlights in green rather than gold. The armored chest had shoulder guards. But the material felt the same. He almost cried when he saw the white gloves and boots.

_He’s coming. I know he’s coming._

The armor looked a lot like Tagoma’s; it was obviously a uniform. Frieza’s uniform. Trunks hesitated, not wanting to do anything that even gave a hint that he was under Frieza’s control. But the need to get out of this dark room, even if it was to get smacked around more, was too strong. Slowly, he pulled on the armor. He watched his hand clenching in the white glove—there was some comfort there. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The food had settled Trunks’ nerves, but his stomach was roiling as Tagoma led him down a corridor toward the throne room. He shot Trunks a strange thin smile as they walked. “You must be a very special child to have gained my Lord’s attention like this.”

Trunks recoiled at the tone of worship in Tagoma’s voice. He seemed nice enough, but there was something in his face that Trunks didn’t trust. _I’ll never be like that_ , he thought. _I’ll_ **_never_ ** _accept Frieza as my boss. I’ll fight. Forever._

“Yeah. I’ll feel real special when my lunch has been kicked out of me,” he sneered. “Having my arm pulled out of its socket is a real badge of honor.”

He thought Tagoma would get defensive, but the grey alien simply laughed. “Don’t worry, kid. Lord Frieza has no intention of physical training today. He’s told me today is simply educational.”

Educational? What the hell did that mean? Still, it was nice to hear he might not be in the healing tank again by the end of the day.

“Here we are.” They stopped in front of a door, and Tagoma turned to Trunks. “Listen, let me give you some advice. I understand you are angry now. You don’t want to be here. You feel resentful and violent toward Lord Frieza. But I would recommend listening to him before you try anything stupid. He’s worth listening to. He wants to help make you stronger. And honestly, you can't possibly win against him if you fight. You're impressive for your age, but Lord Frieza is in an entirely different class. Today he doesn't want to hurt you, but he won't hesitate if you make it necessary.”

Trunks believed him. 

The door opened. Tagoma stepped inside, and pressed a fist to his chest, making a small bow. “My Lord, the boy as you requested.” He gestured for Trunks to come inside.

The room was exactly as he remembered. Freiza was seated on a mechanical throne, holding a glass of some dark liquid. Trunks entered, not quite suppressing a shudder. He did not bow.

“Ah, good. You may leave, Tagoma.” The alien bowed again, and left Trunks alone with Frieza, who set down his drink on the arm of the throne, then stood and approached him. “Well, little monkey. I hope you are feeling better.” 

Trunks fought the urge to wipe the smirk off the bastard’s face. He wouldn’t win. “My name is Trunks.”

Frieza closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Let’s please not start this again, pet. I believe I made myself clear in this regard. Or perhaps you need more time to think about it?” He gave Trunks a flat look that made him swallow. The thought of going back to the dark…

“No.” He lowered his eyes.

“Good. Now, let’s begin.”

“Begin what?” Every muscle in the boy’s body was tensed, waiting for the impact of a blow. But nothing came.

“Don’t worry, monkey. Today you will only get hurt if you misbehave. We will begin your physical training later. For now, it’s time to begin educating your mind. I imagine you’ve been coddled quite dreadfully. We are going to have to work on that if you are to become the soldier I know you can be.”

“No! I’m never going to work for you, Frieza. And I’m definitely not going to kill people for you! I’m not a murderer!”

Frieza chuckled at his words. “Perhaps not yet. But don’t fret. You’ll learn, little monkey. I know you can be just wonderful at murder. After all, it’s in your blood. Vegeta was one of my top men for genocide.”

Trunks froze at his words. A chill ran over his skin, and he furrowed his brow. “What did you say?”

“Your father, child. He was one of my most ruthless killers. Any time I needed a few billion people wiped out, he was always my first call.”

That wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. 

“I know you’re lying about my dad. He saves people. He’s a hero.”

Frieza laughed in his strangely elegant fashion. “Is that what you think? A hero? Oh, heavens, child. Your father really never told you much about himself, did he?”

Trunks didn’t know what to say. He knew his father was a hero. He knew it. Frieza was a liar, right? He was evil, and evil people lied all the time. He was totally lying now. Dad had saved the world lots of times. He was a hero.

“Hmm. You doubt me.” Frieza turned to a nearby panel and began to touch some buttons. “Well, I suppose that’s fair. After all, only a fool accepts another’s word without evidence. Very well. Let me illustrate my point.”

The lights in the room went down, and a large viewscreen came to life. “This is some recorded footage from a scouter during a purge of one of my planets. Please, enjoy the show.”

Trunks was looking at a war zone, filmed as though he was seeing it in first person. Buildings had been transformed into burning rubble, and piles of corpses were heaped everywhere. His stomach churned with the realization that the strange, soft piles in the street were some sort of viscera. 

The view showed a running creature, tall and lanky and covered with some sort of brown fur. The thought passed through his head that it looked a little like one of his sister’s teddy bears. In the view, an arm raised up to track it, before a blast of ki hit it in the back and vaporized the terrified runner. A loud guffaw sounded next to the wearer of the camera, and the picture swung over to show an enormous bald man wearing familiar armor and not much else. A voice came from the cameraman: _“Ha, that’s 350 for me! You’re gonna owe me dinner, Nappa!”_

The big one replied, _“That’s sad, Raditz. I’m at 470.”_

 _“Both of you are pathetic. I’m already up to 1200.”_ Wait. That voice. He knew that voice. 

Sure enough, as the view changed again it brought into frame a short but muscular man, with hair rising from his head like a flame. It was unquestionably his father. Younger, and with a cruel look on his face, but it was him. 

_“Yeah, but you’re going for the children, Vegeta. They only count for half.”_

His father sneered at the cameraman. _“They’re smaller, so they’re harder to hit. You’re only upset because your aim’s been off all day.”_ A blur of movement grabbed the attention of the wearer, and his focus swung to show another small bear creature, obviously a child younger than Trunks, running for its life down the gore-covered streets.

Trunks heard his father laugh cruelly and fly to intercept the child. He grabbed it and dragged it back to the other Saiyans. _“Like I said, they’re fast little fuckers.”_ The child was sobbing in terror while his father— _his father_ —was laughing as though he had just told a joke around a water cooler.

The big one spoke. _“Bet you can’t hit a moving target, Vegeta.”_

 _“Oh, please. You won’t even be able to make it a challenge.”_ He tossed the child over to the large one, who caught it by the head, then whipped it up into the air. Trunks couldn’t quite tell if the child’s neck broke with the toss, or if it was still alive when his father brought up a hand and fired a ki blast, incinerating it whole. _“That’s 1201, you sad bastards.”_

Oh gods. His father. His father had just…he had just watched his own father…

Trunks bent over and vomited on the floor. As he wiped his mouth, he heard a sound that he soon realized was himself, sobbing.

_How could you? How could you do that, Papa?_

Trunks felt a cold hand stroke his hair. “There, there, little monkey. It’s always hard to learn that someone isn’t what they’ve been pretending to be, isn’t it.” The voice oozed a false comfort, taking no real pains to disguise the amusement underneath. Trunks slapped away the hand, earning a rough chuckle.

“But don’t worry, pet. That’s only a small taste. I have so much more for you to see.”

He did. He had hours and hours and hours. Trunks gagged a few more times watching the carnage, and when his father casually ripped the arm off someone's corpse and took a bite, he emptied what was left of his stomach on the floor, to Frieza’s apparent amusement. 

But things didn’t get _really_ bad until he watched what his father had done to the green-skinned child with the blue hair—just like Bulla. Just like Bulla. Trunks tried to close his eyes against the horrible images but he couldn’t stop the sounds. The explosions, the screaming, the crying and begging for mercy and wailing in grief and above it all, the sound of laughter. His father’s laughter.

Eventually he found himself curled up on the floor, sobbing, holding his ears and rocking, trying to make it stop. To make it stop. _Make it stop. Make it stop._ “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.” 

He didn’t know when he’d dropped to the floor. He didn’t know when he’d started saying it out loud. He didn’t know when the screen had turned off. He didn’t know when a cold hand had started stroking his head as though trying to calm him. He hated that it was working.

 _It was a lie. It was all a lie._ All the times his father had smiled at him. All the training together. The way he’d held Bulla when she was born. The way he’d put his hand on his mother’s waist. Watching him put on his armor, ready to go save the world. _Save the world._ And the whole time, he’d been...this. This _thing_. This…

This monster.

His father was a monster. 

He closed his eyes. _Everything was a lie. My whole life. They lied to me my whole life._

Suddenly, that time at the World Tournament made sense, when his father had killed people. It wasn’t because he’d been controlled. It was because he wanted to. It was because he was a monster. He’d hid it. But it was there. That’s why everyone had been so upset. Not because they didn’t understand why his father had turned into a killer. It was because they understood _exactly_ why.

“I think that’s enough for today, little monkey.” Frieza’s voice was calm, soft. “Don’t worry about the mess. I’ll have it cleaned for you this time. Be more careful next time, though.”

He walked back to his throne and sat, pressing a few buttons. Trunks looked up with red-rimmed eyes as Tagoma re-entered. Frieza smiled at Trunks—how he was learning to hate that smile—and spoke. “Well, monkey, I’m a busy man and have to leave you now. But don’t worry, your education will be continuing for some time."

Frieza's voice had regained its cruel amusement. “Tagoma will see to your physical training. He is an excellent tutor. His attitude toward pain, while perhaps unsatisfactory at first, has developed into something truly admirable. Besides, he knows firsthand how effective this kind of education can be.”

With that, he turned in dismissal. “Do what you wish to train the creature, Tagoma. And please, be thorough.”

Tagoma lifted Trunks to his feet and maneuvered him out of the throne room. Trunks followed him, too spent to argue. _How could he? How could he?_ His mind couldn’t stop replaying the images he’d seen. The death. The horror. And the glee in his father’s face. His whole body shook uncontrollably, his eyes burning from the salt left by the tears. He raised his arm to wipe his dripping nose, but paused at the sight of his hand.

His hand enclosed in a white glove. He halted, staring at it as his face twisted in revulsion. His stomach tightened, and a wave of prickling heat washed over his skin. He struggled for breath, staring at the white fabric. He screwed his eyes shut, to block the sight.

Tagoma turned, looking at him quizzically. “You okay, kid?”

Trunks took a breath, opening his eyes. Hurriedly, he stripped the gloves from his skin and threw them to the floor. Trembling, mouth thinned, he stepped over them and caught up with Tagoma.

“I’m fine,” he replied in a flat voice. “I just don’t need those anymore.” The gloves lay empty on the floor as he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
>
>> Galactic Patrolwoman Zammi hung up the phone, her face wide with shock.
>> 
>> “We gotta go. Now. Call everyone; we’re gonna need backup for this one. You’ll never guess who was just spotted at the Midgard Market.”
>> 
>> Her partner picked up his phone and began dialing. “Who?”
>> 
>> “Fucking _Vegeta._ ”
> 
> Thanks, as always, to blackswans22 for your amazing beta help.
> 
> [ More Author's Notes (including soundtrack!)](https://avechameleon.blogspot.com/2021/02/through-seven-gates-ch-5.html)


	6. In Which the Challenge Becomes Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gathering the first of the Super Dragon Balls was supposed to be simple...

_The lab is dark, except for the small lamp on her desk lighting her work and the glow of the laptop screen beside it. The Super Dragon Radar is beside her, connected by cables to her computer which she studies intently. The quiet tap-tap of her fingers on the keys feels muffled by the darkness surrounding her island of soft illumination._

_He approaches quietly, not wanting to interrupt if she is in the middle of an idea. She has the look in her eyes he loves most—the sparkle that comes from her tremendous mind working at full throttle. Her fingers fly across her keyboard, pulling up page after page of numbers. Occasionally, she takes the pencil she’s tucked behind her ear and writes something on the pad next to her. Watching her like this was like watching combat, where the grace and speed and strength of her mind nearly always emerged victorious against the uncertain and unknown._

_She throws a quick glance his way as he approaches, but does not turn from the battlefield. She murmurs to herself as she writes and calculates. Finally, she comes to a stop, satisfied with her conclusions. Only then does she look up at him with a smile, her eyes shining with newfound understanding._

_“They resonate.”_

_The confusion must show on his face. Gesturing to the radar, she elaborates. “I got some great data at the tournament with the Sixth. I already knew they had a specific vibration, like the Earth’s balls, which is how I made the radar in the first place. But I’m studying the data I collected and I’m finding that they link to each other somehow. They share a quantum entanglement that connects them, even through the different dimensions. The entanglement creates a network connecting one to all the others, and they resonate. Like a crystal when you strike it. The resonance flows from them in waves, weaving itself through space-time.”_

_He comes over to her then, leans down and wraps his arms around her. “It’s three a.m., woman. Come to bed.”_

_She rises, turns to him, pulls him to her. The lab dissolves, and she is in his arms laying below him. One of his hands is in her soft blue hair, the other runs along the curves of her body. He breathes her name, drinking her in with every part of himself._

_Her eyelids open as she looks at him. Her sky-blue eyes are gone, replaced by the deep midnight of space; stars and galaxies burn brightly in their depths. Her lips move to his ear and quietly, she murmurs a secret._

_“We resonate, too.”_

_And like a crystal when you strike it, she shatters._

*********

Vegeta woke with a jolt. _Fuck. Dream._ He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing himself to stop shaking. He remembered the dreams from the last time he lost everything. The dreams where he tried and failed to stop it, to stop her from dying, those were bad. The ones where everything was fine...those were worse. Those ones, he was forced to remember the horrible truth of reality upon waking.

He swung his legs over the side of the bunk, looking over at the other side of the cabin of the Capsule spaceship. Thank the gods, Kakarot was still asleep. He could afford to let himself succumb to the crushing weight he carried every waking moment, the litany that repeated itself on a loop in his mind. _She's gone. She's gone. Have to get her back._ He let his control slip a little, letting out the pain as his body shook with soundless grief. He’d learned to do this in utter silence long ago.

 _Enough_ , he thought. He forced himself to take one deep breath, then another. _Enough._ He sat long enough to be sure he’d regained his composure, then stood. He set some coffee to brew, then walked forward to the bridge. For one moment, he stared out into the inky void outside the viewport. _Where are you?_ His gloved fingers touched the window as he stretched his senses out almost reflexively. _Find you. Have to find you. My boy. Stay strong. My princess. Where are you? I’m coming. Stay strong. I’m coming._ But there was nothing. As there had been nothing the last time he’d looked. And the one before that. And the one... _Stay strong. My son. Stay strong. I’m coming._ Angrily, he pushed the thoughts down. Pointless now. He pushed himself purposefully away from the window and turned to a nearby console. Moving his hand over a keyboard, he scanned the coordinates on a screen nearby. _Almost there_ . Another few hours and they’d be on Midgard. _I’m coming._

“We there yet?” Kakarot’s voice still held sleep as he entered the bridge.

“Will be this afternoon.”

The idiot came up, looking at the navigation screen as though he knew what any of it meant. “Why are we going there again? I thought we already knew where the ball was, ‘cause of the radar?”

Vegeta resisted the urge to elbow him in the face. “I told you. The ball is in a place called the Maelstrom. Navigating it is difficult. Navigating it without up-to-date information is nearly impossible. So unless you want to be smashed into tiny pieces by an asteroid and then sucked into a black hole, we need the most current map we can get. Which is on Midgard.”

“Oh. ‘Kay.” He didn’t speak for a minute. “So...wanna spar?”

“I suppose. Nothing better to do.” Vegeta turned to the ladder leading to the on-board training room. He hated to admit it, but he was thankful Kakarot had insisted on coming with him. For the week or so they’d been in space, they’d been sparring nearly every spare minute. And that was the only way he could seem to quiet, for a while, the constant and maddening incantation.

_She’s gone. Find you. Have to get her back. Have to find you. Bulma. She’s gone. My son. Stay strong. She’s gone. My princess. Have to get her back. Where are you? Stay strong. My boy. She’s gone. Stay strong. I’m coming._

_I’m coming._

* * *

Galactic Patrolwoman Zammi was having a bad day. She’d overslept her alarm, so she didn’t have enough time to make her morning caffeinated brew, and it was putting her in an extremely bad mood. So when her phone rang, she ignored it at first. Probably some dumb farmer needing a tow of his tractor out of the mud that covered this stupid place. 

“Aren’t you going to get that?” asked her partner Cronin, gesturing to the phone with his trunk. He had a mouth full of sandwich and a steaming mug of brew sat in front of him. He hadn’t offered to get her any. Jerk.

Zammi sighed and picked up the phone resentfully. “Yes, Galactic Patrol Station 2032, what can we assist with today, citizen?”

Suddenly, her attitude seemed to shift completely. “You said you saw _who_? Are you absolutely sure?” She listened intently, gesturing to Cronin frantically for a pen and pad. He handed them to her and she began jotting down information. “Okay, slow down. Where are you?” A pause as the voice on the other end answered. “I see. Did he tell you where he was going?” Her eyes were wide now. “And how long ago was this?” Another pause. “Seriously? Okay, thanks for the call. Whatever you do, do not approach him. He is extremely dangerous and has been known to react violently when provoked. Don’t worry, we’re on it. The Galactic Patrol appreciates your help.” 

As she replaced the receiver, her face hung in shock. She turned to her confused partner and said, “We gotta go. Now. And call Tooma and Zoni. In fact, call everyone. We’re gonna need a lot of backup for this one. You’ll never guess who was just spotted at the Midgard Market.”

Cronin picked up the phone and began dialing. “Who?”

“Fucking _Vegeta_.”

*********

Zammi’s blood was pounding in her ears as she and Cronin approached the rendezvous point. They’d learned at Midgard that their quarry was headed to this spot, though the reason was a mystery. Nothing was here but a lifeless ball of dust.

The most wanted list that circulated around the Galactic Patrol offices changed its cast of characters pretty regularly as criminals were caught, or died, and new ones took their places. But for almost thirty years, one name had graced the top ten. Prince of a dead people, right hand man of the galaxy’s worst tyrant. Murder, torture, genocide—nothing was beyond the Prince of Death. _Vegeta_. And now, finally, after disappearing for over a decade, here he was in her neighborhood.

Cronin’s trunk was twitching with nervous energy. “So, what do we do now?” The radio spat its regular chatter as the rest of the patrol assembled itself around the empty planet, hiding behind the ring of asteroids surrounding it. 

Zammi pulled into her ambush position. “Now, I guess we wait.”

*********

With the information gained on Midgard, Vegeta hadn’t had any real problems getting through the swirling gravitational anomalies of the Maelstrom and finding the rough location of the Super Dragon Ball. Kakarot was monitoring the dragon radar as Vegeta manned the helm. “Okay, Vegeta. Looks like the radar says we’re getting real close.”

Vegeta dropped them out of FTL and looked over his shoulder to study the radar. “Seems like it’s in the middle of this asteroid field.” He sighed and turned back to the helm. “We’ll have to pick our way through.” 

Kakarot kept alternating between watching the radar and peering out the viewport. “This is it here. At least, I guess so. The radar shows it’s here, but I don’t see it.”

Vegeta peered over his shoulder, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the enormous and perfectly spherical mass of rock in front of them was the ball. “That’s it there.”

Kakarot marvelled at the sight. “Whoa! I know the ball at the tournament was like that, but it had been sitting there for a long time. This one’s only been there for a little while. Why’s it covered with dust?”

“It’s the biggest thing around. Any dust from asteroid collisions is going to be grabbed in the gravity well.” Vegeta absently explained as he studied the area for unseen hazards. “Get your suit on. We can’t grab the ball from inside the ship.” Kakarot shrugged on the bulky orange-and-silver suit.

Suddenly, as Vegeta watched the comm screen, the blip of another ship popped on the display. It was soon joined by more as blip after blip began to appear. “What the hell-” he started to say before the broadband receiver burst into life with a burst of static.

“ATTENTION, PRINCE VEGETA THE FOURTH! THIS IS THE GALACTIC PATROL! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST IN CONNECTION TO MULTIPLE ACTS OF TERROR! SURRENDER NOW OR WE _WILL_ OPEN FIRE!”

“FUCK!” Vegeta couldn’t tear his eyes from the monitor as ship after ship appeared. “They show up now? _Now_?”

Kakarot stood in his space suit, helmet in hand and eyes wide. To his credit, he didn’t waste time with stupid questions. “What do you need from me?” His face was set in the serious expression Vegeta usually only saw before a fight. Before someone got a serious ass-kicking.

“Get that helmet on and go get the ball. I’ll distract them. GO!” He tossed Whis’s collecting pot to Kakarot, who caught it in one hand and ran to the airlock. Vegeta threw himself into the pilot’s chair and strapped in. This was not going to be fun.

“SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY! THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!” The comm lit up with alarms; the patrol ships were arming their weaponry. 

“Go fuck yourselves,” he muttered. The airlock notification blinked; Kakarot was off the ship. Time to get this done. He grit his teeth, bracing for the acceleration forces he was about to feel, and pulled the engines into hard burn.

The ship shot out from the ring of the patrol with a speed that obviously surprised the hell out of the patrol ships, as not one of them fired for a full second. Despite the crush of his lungs in the extreme g-forces, he smirked. The ship was a classic Capsule design; basically a sphere with legs. It looked like it should fly like a brick’s grandmother, like it was stupidly bulky and horribly non-aerodynamic. Because it _was_ non-aerodynamic—a fact that meant fuck-all in space where there was no air. Out here it was only a matter of thrust and inertia, and the engines designed by Earth’s greatest genius had more damned thrust than these idiotic cops had ever seen.

Vegeta steered directly toward the thickest part of the asteroid field; the last place the Galactic Patrol had expected him to run and therefore the place they’d put the fewest ships. The patrol ships had begun to recover from the shock of his running; the incandescent streaks of the shots from the patrol ships’ guns shot past the viewport as they began to try to gain a lock on him. Some of them had started the chase, their ships turning his way. They were fast. He was faster. He dove into the asteroid field, shutting down the engines on one side of the ship to corner around a huge one to avoid the firing solutions trained on his ass.

 _Damn._ Vegeta shot a quick glance at the comm screen. Many of the patrol ships were staying behind in the clearing, but too many for his comfort had followed him in, and some of them were weaving through the asteroids like they were nothing. Vegeta would rate himself “not bad” on a piloting scale; he’d had his share of dogfights, but that was a long time ago and it had never been his specialty. These pilots were _damn good_.

He cursed under his breath. Okay, so they had better flying skills. There was one thing they’d never have more of than him, though. He cracked a small smile as he headed straight for a narrow passage between two enormous asteroids; a narrow passage that was quickly getting even narrower. He’d have to be absolutely insane to attempt to get through. A fact he hoped had been noticed by his pursuers. He hit his burn again, diving closer. Two of the ships following him stayed on his tail, the others broke off to pull around the rocks to try to hit him on the other side. _Perfect._

Without warning, Vegeta cut the engines entirely and diverted power to the maneuvering thrusters on the back bottom of the ship. With no rotational inertia to overcome, the thrusters easily sent the ship head-over-heels, tumbling like a kid doing somersaults. Vegeta suppressed his vertigo, waited until he was facing roughly backward from his previous trajectory, and hit full burn. 

His stomach tried to fly directly out of his mouth and his vision began to go black around the edges as the sudden shift in momentum hit. He tensed his muscles and expelled as much of his air as possible to try to counteract the sudden desire of his blood to move to the back of his body; thankfully the pressure shift in his chest was enough to keep his heart from going into arrest. He thanked his wife for the gods-be-praised gravity room, which had prepared him to withstand forces that by all rights should be tearing him to shreds. Still, he estimated this fun little maneuver was somewhere in the range of 1000g, and if he didn’t ease up he would almost certainly be reduced to a smear in the pilot’s seat.

The patrol ships were quick to respond, but none of them could manage the kind of forces he was pulling. He shot back out into the clearing where he’d left Kakarot. Thank the gods, the ball was gone; the idiot must have actually managed to grab it. He aimed toward where he’d left the other man, and hit reverse thrusters. There was no way Kakarot would make it back into the ship at these speeds, so he’d have to risk slowing to a near stop.

The airlock cycled, and Kakarot came in pulling the helmet off his suit. “Strap the fuck in, Kakarot. This is going to get messy.” He pushed the thrusters once more, but only enough to get them moving at speed so that Kakarot could get himself seated. The patrol ships that had stayed in the clearing during his first maneuver were beginning to notice his return; the area around the ship was pelted by heavy fire as the patrol’s guns tracked toward his position.

Vegeta aimed again for the cover of the flying asteroids. The Galactic Patrol pilots were fast learners; they were moving in an organized pattern that was blocking most routes of exit. Shots were being thrown toward their ship closer than Vegeta was comfortable with. He threw a glance over his shoulder; Kakarot was strapped in. Time to maneuver. He hit the thrusters to throw them into a tight spiralling spin, making directly for a cluster of patrol ships. Several others were on his tail, trying to force him into a pincer between the two groups.

“Vegeta, you see the ships ahead, right?” Kakarot’s voice was tinged with nervousness.

“Yeah, I see them. We’re going to get past them, don’t worry.” Vegeta aimed directly at the center and hit the thruster even harder. They moved closer and closer. 

“So...we’re playing chicken then?” asked Kakarot.

“Not quite. Listen, clench your jaw and take a deep breath. When your vision tunnels, breathe out as hard as you can, all right?”

“What?” That was the last thing Vegeta heard as he slammed the reverse thrusters on one side to maximum, diving the ship downward just before the patrol would be in gun lock range. The ships on his tail weren’t so quick; they slammed into the wall of their compatriots, forcing the patrol ships to scatter. He turned again, diving toward the cover of the asteroids once more. 

But before they were fully in, the ship jolted with an impact and they were thrown violently against their restraints. “Dammit! We’ve been hit!” Vegeta’s fingers flew across the console, trying to assess the damage. But he could feel the change in the ship’s handling before the computer told him the issue. “Fuck! They’ve grazed the fuel line for the lower left engine. We can’t maneuver like this. Hang on.”

They were going to have to stop the ship if they wanted to fix the engine, and they were going to have to fix the engine if they wanted to escape this alive and free of custody. And if they stopped, they were dead. “I’m going to have to buy us some time. We’re going silent running.” He scanned the area of the asteroid field they were flying through. Good. No Galactic Patrol ships had caught up yet, and the asteroids were full of iron and nickel. They’d be undetectable if they didn’t run the engines. Vegeta did a quick calculation of their trajectory to make sure they weren’t going to slam into an asteroid, then hit a few buttons. Suddenly, the lights went out throughout the ship, leaving only the pale blue of the emergency lighting. The rumble of the engine burn was gone; Vegeta’s ears rang with the sudden silence. The ship went dark, drifting freely through space.

Vegeta unlatched his restraints. “Kakarot. You’ll need to do the fix.” He bent down to a storage container, pulled out a repair kit, shoved it into Kakarot’s hands. 

“I don’t know how to fix a spaceship, Vegeta!” Kakarot said in near-panic. 

“I know you don’t, moron. I’m going to talk you through it. It’s not a difficult repair. Even you probably won’t fuck up.”

“Can’t you do it?”

Vegeta's voice rose in frustration. “No, I have to stay at the helm and keep us from crashing into enormous flying rocks. Besides, the fuel line is outside the ship, and you’re already wearing a space suit.” He took a deep breath, noting the other man’s wide eyes and rapid breaths. A panicked Kakarot was the last person he wanted making critical repairs. He forced himself to sound sincere. “You’ll be fine, Kakarot. I trust you.” The surprise in the other man’s eyes at that was somehow both amusing and touching. Which pissed Vegeta off. He growled, “Just go. When you leave the airlock, look to the rear of the ship. You should see the spray of fuel. That’s where you’re headed.”

“Gotcha. I won’t let you down, Vegeta.” _Ugh._ Vegeta stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he turned back to the console. At least he sounded calmer.

“Make sure you’re holding on to the ship at all times, Kakarot. I’m going to have to burn occasionally to change our momentum, and if you’re not holding on the ship’s going to move without you.”

Vegeta waited, eyes glued to the display screen. So far, their trajectory was good. Nothing in the way of their current path for at least a minute or two. More worrying was the occasional glimpses of the patrol ships winding between the asteroids, but they made no sign that they had any idea where the ship was hiding.

The radio crackled to life. “Okay, Vegeta. I’m at the fuel line. What do I do now?”

“All right. Tell me what you see. Is the fuel line fully broken, or only breached?”

“Um, it’s still attached together. But there’s a really big hole torn in it.”

“Well, that’s some good luck. All right, in the repair kit you’ll find two metal coupling rings. You’ll need to attach one to the line on either side of the breech.” Abruptly, Vegeta’s attention was grabbed by a soft beeping from the comm. “Shit. Hold on, Kakarot. I’m going to fire up the engines to shift our path.”

“Gotcha. I’m ready.”

Vegeta swept the area for patrol vehicles. Nothing in sight. He brought up the power, hit the engines for a two-second burn. Enough to move them out of the path of the large rock that had been on collision course. Shutting the power back down, he radioed, “It’s done. Keep going.”

“Right.” The radio went silent for a few minutes. Vegeta sat in silence, eyes scanning the comm and the viewport for the patrol ships. His mind began to wander. _Have to get her back. Have to find you. Where are you? My boy. Stay strong._

He caught himself reaching out to look for their ki, and angrily shut it down. _Not the time!_ “Kakarot, what the hell are you doing?”

“Okay, I’ve got the rings on. Now what?”

“Cut the line between them. Cut it as close to the rings as possible. Then use the Scarff wrench to connect the coupling as tightly as possible.”

“The what?”

“The-” he grunted in frustration. _Fucking idiot doesn’t recognize a gods-damned Scarff wrench_. “The long metal thing, with the loop on the end. Moron.”

“Oh, this thing. Gotcha.”

Suddenly, the comm lit up. _Fuck. Patrol ships._ They were headed almost directly toward them. It didn’t seem like they’d been spotted. Yet. But it was only a matter of time. “Kakarot, please tell me you are almost done. We’re running out of time.”

“I’m close! I just need to...Argh! Dang it!”

“What the fuck is happening?”

Kakarot’s voice was sheepish. “Nothing! Nothing. I’m almost done. Just...one minute…”

Vegeta’s eyes drifted to the comm screen. Two more ships had joined in. By all the fucking gods, the patrol ships were practically breathing on their neck. “Kakarot, we have to get the _fuck_ out of here. Now! Are you done or not?”

“I’m...Hang on...Yes! I got it!” Vegeta let go of the breath he’d been holding. 

“Then get your ass back inside the ship!” Vegeta’s eyes were flicking between the comm’s weapon lock alert and the airlock indicator. Which one would light up first? A muscle at the corner of his eye began to twitch.

 _There._ Thank the fucking gods, the airlock cycled. “Kakarot, are you in?”

“I’m in. We’re good!”

No time for the oaf to get to the bridge. The comm was lighting up with firing locks. They’d been spotted.

“Hang on, Kakarot. And sorry.” Without waiting for a response, Vegeta flipped on the power. Either Kakarot had done a decent job and they’d get out of the fucking way, or he’d screwed it up and they were dead. No time to worry either way. He hit the engine burn.

The acceleration threw him back into his seat. He ignored the shout of pain and surprise from the radio as Kakarot was almost certainly slammed into a bulkhead wall. Too bad. He’d survive. The engine line was fixed. The ship shot out of the way of the incoming fire. 

“YES!” Vegeta weaved through the flying rocks that surrounded them, exhilarating at the pure speed. His mood was pulled quickly back down to reality when the comm beeped its horrible song at him once again.

The pilots. The good ones. They were back, and on his tail. Vegeta threw out a beautiful string of curses in various languages at the realization. There was no way he could outrun these bastards. He had better engines, but they could fucking _fly_. Any advantage he had in speed would be negated by their maneuverability. Still, it was worth a try. He hit the throttle once more, but had to keep backing off to avoid slamming into the rocks. The Galactic Patrol pilots were slowly catching up.

And now the comm was flashing like a damn light show. “Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Vegeta growled to himself. The guns were bad enough. Now the gods-damned patrol had a torpedo lock on him. He swore as the projectiles launched, making their way without fail toward the ship. One hit from those and the whole ship could blow. He had to shake them, and do it now.

One more trick up his sleeve. “Kakarot. You still alive?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“We’ve got torpedos incoming. I’ve got an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

A pause. “What are you gonna do?”

“It’s not what I’m going to do. It’s what you’re going to do. I need you to attach yourself to the bulkhead and open the airlock.”

“Are you kidding? While we’re moving like this?” Kakarot sighed over the open radio. “Yeah. Okay. I gotcha. Gimme a sec.”

Vegeta dodged around an asteroid, but the torpedoes kept their lock. “Ready, Kakarot?”

“Door’s open. What now?”

“When I give the signal, you fire a big damn ki blast at that asteroid ahead of us, got it?”

“Got it, Vegeta. Holding for your word.”

This was it. Either they shook the Galactic Patrol, or they’d be dead. Vegeta aimed directly at the largest of the asteroids, and pushed the throttle higher. His vision once again tunneled from the g-force. No help for it. He hoped Kakarot hadn’t passed out. 

“Um, Vegeta? We’re heading right for that big rock…” Guess not. Good. He pushed it a little further.

“Vegeta?” Kakarot’s voice was sounding a little nervous now.

“Shut up, idiot.”

“Vegeta!” The asteroid loomed in front of them.

“Shut up.”

“Vegeta, we’re gonna crash!” He was panicking now. Vegeta couldn’t blame him as the enormous wall of rock got closer, far too fast. By now, it filled the entire viewscreen.

“We won’t crash.” He grit his teeth, pushed the throttle higher.

“Vegeta, I have to blow the asteroid now!” Kakarot’s voice was pitched high, strangled.

“You fucking hold until I tell you, Kakarot!”

Not yet. Not yet.

The comm screamed at him, begging for his attention as the torpedoes got closer and closer.

Not yet.

The surface of the asteroid loomed, close enough to almost touch.

Not yet.

_"Vegeta!"_

“NOW!” Vegeta shouted into the radio, pushing the throttle as far back as it could go.

 _BOOM!_ The ki blast hit the asteroid straight on, shattering it into millions of pieces of chaff and shrapnel. Vegeta wished he could hold his breath, waiting to see if he’d timed it right. But if he did he’d pass out from the acceleration; instead he pushed his breath out with as much force as he could muster. If it took the form of a wordless scream, no one was there to tell.

The ship flew straight through the center of the new debris field, where the dregs of Kakarot’s blast had incinerated the rock thoroughly and the new shreds hadn’t had time to diffuse. Behind them, Vegeta swore he could _hear_ the torpedoes explode as the blips on the comm vanished. He couldn’t, of course. No sound in space. 

The shattered asteroid acted exactly as he’d planned. Their hunters were forced to pull up short to avoid being shredded by the debris, buying them time to slip between asteroids and vanish. It wouldn’t hold them off for more than half a minute, a minute at most. But that was enough. Vegeta relaxed as the acceleration of the engines faded into simple velocity and the crushing force lifted.

For a few moments he panted, willing his racing heart to calm before it exploded. Then he reached for the radio. “Kakarot. Are you still alive?”

Silence. Long enough that a flicker of worry began to bloom. Then, “I guess I am. Kinda surprised about it, though. Man, Vegeta. That was closer than I woulda liked.” A chuckle. “Can I close this airlock now?”

Vegeta allowed himself a smile. They were safe. They had the Super Dragon Ball, they had outrun the Galactic Patrol, and they hadn’t even died. “Close the damn thing and get up here. I think the woman’s father stashed a bottle of something in one of these cupboards, and I say we both deserve a drink.”

* * *

The whiskey had dampened the adrenaline to acceptable levels when the communication screen turned on. Gohan was in view, but his eyes seemed to be locked on something outside his ship. “Hey, Dad. Do you read me?”

Kakarot lurched for the viewscreen. “Hey, Gohan! Good to hear from ya! We had a crazy time getting that Super Dragon Ball! Remind me to tell ya the story when we meet up, okay? Too crazy to tell right now.” Vegeta snorted. Kakarot meant he was too drunk.

“Yeah, sure.” Gohan replied, preoccupied with whatever he was staring at. “But Dad...we’ve found the other ball you sent us to.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great! Any trouble?”

“No, we found it just fine. It’s only that...” Gohan’s voice trailed off. Vegeta found himself stiffening. The boy’s obvious disquiet was getting to him.

“What is it, Gohan?” Kakarot seemed uneasy as well.

“I think I’d better show you. You guys are going to want to see this.” His hands were moving on the computer beneath him. Soon, an image was superimposed on their ship’s viewscreen.

Vegeta stood up, his eyes wide. _Impossible._ Whatever he’d been expecting...this was not it. A chill shot from his lower back to the base of his skull. 

Outside Gohan’s ship, floating in the blackness of space, a huge orb shone. Its golden surface glowed in the light of a nearby sun. In the center floated four red stars, light reflecting off them like the facets of cut rubies.

And inside it, running all the way from the surface deep into the center of the ball, was an unmistakable crack.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
>
>> Trunks knew that he didn’t want to know the answer to the question, but he asked it anyway. “What...what does he want me to learn?”
>> 
>> Tagoma smiled. “He wants you to learn to be strong, child. Like I did. Believe me, you’ll find him a fine teacher. I was once like you, you know. You’ll grow strong. All it will cost you is pain.” He gave Trunks a pitying smile.
> 
> Thanks as always to blackswans22 for beta!
> 
> Click the link if you'd like to read the expanded [Author's Notes](https://avechameleon.blogspot.com/2021/02/through-seven-gates-ch-6.html?zx=4f0a28b6a6ae3bae).


	7. In Which Pain is Transformed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks begins his education.

"Again."

Trunks pushed himself back up to standing, ignoring the ache where Tagoma had struck him in the side, and ran his fingers through his blonde hair in frustration. He sank back into his fighting stance and began slowly circling his new tutor, teal eyes narrowed.

_There. He left himself open._ Trunks launched himself at Tagoma. Too late, he saw the trap. Tagoma had left his right flank open on purpose to draw him in, and Trunks had fallen into it, launching himself right into the spinning kick that connected at his temple with a savagery that would have caved in his skull if he’d not been ascended. His vision went black for a second; when he came to, he was lying in a heap against the wall. 

"Again."

Fighting nausea and vertigo, he stood. Tagoma was a little blurry out of his left eye. _Damn it._ He'd detached the retina again. Once more he took up his stance, circled. He tried to return to his Super Saiyan form but the dizziness wouldn’t let him concentrate. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to ignore the pain in his head, the dizziness, the blurry vision. To ignore the pain in his side where the broken ribs were digging into something they shouldn't. To ignore the twinge in his knee where Tagoma had probably torn a ligament. To ignore the throb from his broken forearm. And as always, to ignore the shoulder. His gods-damned shoulder. No matter how many times he'd gone into the healing tank, that shoulder always ended up in pain. His hair flickered but stayed its normal lilac.

“Does it hurt?” Tagoma’s voice was mocking. 

Trunks willed his voice to be steady. “I feel great. You gonna talk all day or are we here to fight?”

The tall grey-skinned alien smirked. “Cute. Come on, then.”

The two of them sank into their stances, circled around each other looking for the chance to strike.

_Aha._ An opening. Trunks shifted to attack. But right before he reached Tagoma’s range, he used a burst of ki to push himself sideways, circling around as Tagoma moved to punish him for falling for it again. Instead, his teacher struck empty air. Trunks followed through with a vicious kick to the small of his back, hard enough to throw Tagoma into the wall himself. Giving no time for recovery, he threw a ki blast into him then flew forward to finish him with an elbow to the head. But Tagoma wasn't there. Too late, Trunks sensed the older man behind him with a ki ball of his own, which was pushed directly into Trunks' back and held there. He collapsed to the floor with a scream of pain.

Tagoma gave a cruel laugh. “Nice hit, kid. You actually managed to land one on me. A good feint. But you didn’t put enough into it. Wasn’t strong enough to slow me down. Try again.”

Trunks struggled to rise, but his legs were traitors and wouldn't respond to his commands. "I can't get up," he said through clenched teeth, fighting back tears. 

The tall alien shook his head as he slowly stepped up to Trunks’ prone form. “Too bad. It’s going to be hard for you to block this, then.”

Trunks tried to brace himself but couldn't quite stop his trembling as Tagoma approached. He knew what was coming next.

* * *

Out of the tank, training, back in. It was beginning to feel routine.

The regen tank was starting to almost be home. The warmth of the blue fluid, the bubbles of air escaping from his mask, and the simple relief of not being on guard for an attack all merged together to lull him toward sleep. He’d lost again today. But he wouldn’t lose tomorrow. Tomorrow he was going to win against Tagoma; show him how strong he had gotten.

The beginning of his training had been tough. Almost unbearable, if Trunks was being honest with himself. Tagoma never held back in the slightest, even against a child. It was like he relished causing Trunks pain. Every time he’d knock Trunks down, every time he’d break a bone or knock out a tooth or cause him to cough up blood, Tagoma would laugh with an edge to it that made Trunks aware his new tutor was not exactly what he’d call “sane”.

The first lesson had been the worst. Tagoma had given him half a day to recover from his...enlightenment...before bringing him to the large area Trunks had begun to think of as the “training room.” There he had sat Trunks down to explain his new routine.

“Lord Frieza has tasked me with teaching you. You should be proud of that. Frieza reserves his personal education for the people he expects will be the best students.”

Trunks knew that he didn’t want to know the answer to the question, but he asked it anyway. “What...what does he want me to learn?”

Tagoma smiled. “He wants you to learn to be strong, kid. Like I did. Believe me, you’ll find him a fine teacher.”

“Freiza can go screw himself, and so can you.” The insults were spiritless. Trunks didn’t have it in him today to hurl them with the anger they deserved.

“I was once like you, you know. I was pretty pissed off when he started training me. Really, it was awful at the beginning. Pain like you wouldn’t believe.” He gave a little chuckle. “But it was worth it. I got power beyond my wildest dreams. Legendary. It’ll be the same for you. It’s gonna be awful today, and you are going to hate me more than you’ve ever hated anyone in your life. But you’ll grow strong. All it will cost you is pain.” He gave Trunks a pitying smile.

That had been the start of what was not so much “training” or even a fight, but more of a brutal beating. Tagoma wasn’t lying when he said he was powerful. He was easily equal to Piccolo. Maybe even Gohan. And he'd attacked with every bit of his strength, despite the difference in power between them. Trunks had ended that day lying on the floor with multiple broken bones and something inside...leaking. As he had struggled to breathe, sensing his own ki flickering and fading as his life ebbed away, Tagoma had simply squatted down next to him to complete the lesson before having him dragged to a regen tank.

“You think I’m evil, huh? Cruel? Ruthless? Sadistic?” He chuckled. “You’re right. I like causing pain. True power comes from pain. Eventually, you’ll learn to ignore it. To take it and channel it into ruthlessness, use it to crush those who stand against you. True power comes from being willing to do whatever you need to win, no matter what pain it costs you. Hell, kid. You should be thanking me for this agony. Each time you are nearly destroyed, you grow stronger.”

He hated it, but the fact was, Tagoma was right. Every day, he was put through his paces. Trained in a way that he’d never been trained before. Tagoma said at home he was coddled. That’s why he hadn’t grown enough. That’s why he was so weak. How can you get strong if you don’t fight for your life every day? And here, he fought every day. He fought to the point that he could barely move, to the point where he had to fight to stay conscious long enough to drag himself to the regen pod.

And every day, he got stronger. He could feel it. Once, he had overheard...him...talking to Goten’s dad about something called “zenkai.” Getting stronger when you were beaten. The worse you were beaten, the stronger you got. And it was true. He felt it. Every day, Tagoma had to work a little harder to beat him into the floor. And tomorrow, tomorrow he would be good enough. He’d be faster. He’d be more powerful. He’d get past Tagoma’s defenses and his resistance to pain and injury, and he’d win. Well, at least he’d cause some damage. Because Trunks was getting strong.

* * *

“Again.”

His punches and kicks were coming faster now. Not quite enough to hit Tagoma, most of the time. But he was connecting occasionally. And when he connected, the hits were harder. Once, he even managed to lay a punch across Tagoma’s jaw that made him rub his cheek in pain. And when Tagoma hit him, it didn’t hurt quite as much. He lasted a full hour without a major injury.

“Not bad, kid. But you’re nowhere near the level Lord Frieza wants of you yet. Again.”

Trunks staggered to his feet, popping his stupid shoulder back into its socket with a wince. He took a deep breath and settled into his stance, a resolute expression settling on his face. He circled around Tagoma. He needed an opening. 

Tagoma dropped his right hand slightly, enough for Trunks to easily make it through his defense. But he didn’t move. “Nice try,” he smirked. 

Tagoma chuckled. “Can’t blame me for—” His words were cut off by a vicious right hook across his jaw, followed by a rain of blows almost too fast to be seen. Tagoma quickly pulled up his blocks, but Trunks had managed to get several through and he’d forced out a couple of grunts of discomfort. His satisfaction was cut short, however, as Tagoma raised his hand and shot a ki blast at close range. Trunks blocked the worst of it but the force was still enough to send him sprawling.

_Damn it._ He’d been so close. Giving a huff of frustration, Trunks struggled to his feet. “I know, I know. Again.” 

Tagoma looked at him with an appraising glance, then shook his head. “Actually, no. I think we’re done today.”

Trunks’ shoulders tensed and the crease between his eyebrows deepened. “What? But we just started!” He was surprised at the disappointment he was feeling. Avoiding another beating should be great news. But all he felt was frustration.

“We’ll do more later. But you’re getting too scrawny. You haven’t been eating enough after your healing breaks, have you? That’s an important step. Have to keep the energy up.” Tagoma came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, you’re doing better than I expected. Still have a long way to go before you’re anywhere near where you should be, but I’m pretty impressed by how quickly you’ve gotten to this level. So, let’s go get some food, huh?”

“Go?” Trunks was used to food being delivered to his room. Or more often, waiting for him outside the healing pods.

“To the canteen.” Tagoma laughed at the surprise on Trunks’ face. “You didn’t think we were the only ones on this ship, did you? There’s hundreds of Frieza Force soldiers on board, and they need a place to eat.”

His stomach grumbled. It had been a while since he ate, actually. “Fine. Let’s go then.”

Tagoma led him to an elevator. When the doors opened at their destination, Trunks almost stared in amazement. Up until then, he hadn’t seen much of the ship. Pretty much all his time was spent in the regen tank, the training room, or the empty hallways that connected them. He hadn’t seen anyone here except Tagoma, Frieza, and one or two of what appeared to be servants. But as the elevator doors opened, it revealed a room completely filled with alien beings of all sorts of species; he couldn’t see two individuals who seemed to be the same kind. And all wearing armor like his.

Tagoma smiled down at his astonished expression and gave a small chuckle. “Welcome to the Frieza Force, kid.”

Trunks tried not to stare as they walked to the mess line. He’d seen more aliens than most kids his age—at least, on Earth—but the sheer variety was overwhelming. All kinds of voices talking, laughing at who knows what. After the silence of the regen pod it was as loud as the roar of a stadium to Trunks. His ki buzzed with the nearness of so many other people as he stood in line for food. The drone of conversation made his chest ache in a strange way. He’d gotten so used to being alone that he hadn’t noticed anymore. But suddenly he missed people. Goten. His grandpa. Krillin. Heck, he missed random Capsule employees and the people at the grocery store; simply having people around and talking was giving him homesickness. His mother. His sister. His...

Trunks shook his head, forced himself back to reality. Thinking about that stuff was pointless. He was here now. Nothing to do about it. He picked up a bowl, filled it with some sort of hot stew that smelled good enough to make his mouth water. 

He sat down with Tagoma at an empty table. Tagoma gestured. “Fill up, kid.” Trunks didn’t need permission. He was starving. But before he could lift a spoonful to his mouth, a hard jostle to his back made him spill it all over the table. 

“Move.”

Trunks looked up. And up. And up. The guy who’d just issued the rather abrupt command was one of the biggest people Trunks had ever seen. He was taller than Piccolo, and probably weighed about twice as much. His purple eyes were narrowed, and the blue skin seemed almost ready to burst from the musculature beneath. Two horns, tips sharpened to points, grew out of his skull on either side of a green fringe of hair.

Trunks could sense the power in the soldier. Not only the enormous muscles stretched on the huge bulk, but the power of the ki inside him. This guy was strong. Really strong. He probably should move. But Trunks was hungry, and he was tired, and he was frustrated from the days and days of beatings and healings and from the earlier interrupted training. _Hell if I’m going to do what this guy tells me._ He scowled and turned back to his food.

“Do your ears work, tiny? I said move. You’re in my seat.”

“I’m eating.” Trunks mumbled into his stew, looking up at Tagoma for backup. _Tell him to get lost_ , Trunks silently pled. But the thin alien was simply sitting across from him, arms crossed, watching impassively. 

“Get the hell out of my seat, monkey, before I lift ya up and throw ya.” The huge soldier sneered at him, cracking his knuckles. His ki was glowing with power now. Trunks swallowed with fear. _What did I just get myself into?_ Maybe he should move. But he’d look weak. Tagoma would be disgusted with him. He’d be disgusted with himself. 

As he hesitated, the soldier lost his patience. He slammed his fist into Trunks’ bowl, sending it flying all the way across the canteen to splatter on the far wall. That caught everyone’s attention. The other soldiers in the canteen all turned his way. Many scrambled to leave when they saw what was happening. Others gathered nearer, anticipation shining in their eyes. A fight was always entertainment, even when it looked to be as short as this one—a tiny kid like Trunks wasn't going to last long against a mountain.

Trunks looked at the food dripping down the wall, taunting his empty belly. A burn began in his gut and quickly spread out through his veins, replacing his fear and indecision. His food. This asshole had messed with _his food_.

Slowly getting to his feet, Trunks let all his anger and frustration rise, pushing his power from inside him. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he seethed. The soldiers who had gathered around to watch the big guy crush the new kid suddenly pulled back as their scouters all began to beep frantically, sensing the rapid increase in power.

“Brave little snot, aren’t ya?” The big guy pulled back a fist, swung it at Trunks. It connected with nothing but air as Trunks easily dodged away, getting behind his opponent and hitting the knee with a vicious kick. The big soldier collapsed partially before recovering. His massive ox-like face twisted in anger. “You little fuck! You're gonna be a smear on the wall when I’m done with ya!”

“Big talk, loser. You should know better than to pick a fight with a Saiyan.” With a smirk, he let his ki off its leash. His hair burst into a bright gold as he levitated three feet off the floor. Dimly, he heard yells as a few scouters shattered, overloading.

With a yell, the soldier kicked a table out of the way, giving the two room to maneuver. Trunks circled warily, dodging in with a feint once in a while to test the soldier’s moves. But this one wasn’t bad. He kept his guard up. Trunks went in with a straight cross punch to the soldier’s jaw, only to be met with a hook connecting to his own. He flew back a few feet to hit the wall. But that was it. It didn’t hurt. He’d barely even felt it. Meanwhile, the soldier was holding on to where Trunks had connected, blood coming out from between his fingers. 

“Gogdabmig!” He spit a wad of blood onto the floor; Trunks could hear the clattering of at least one tooth spit out with it. “I’b godda kill ya for that, you little fugk!”

He launched himself with a brutal attack. Trunks watched with curiosity. His anger was gone, replaced with a calm interest as the big man came toward him as if in slow motion. So effortless to dodge. So simple. In the time it took him to move behind the large soldier, he’d only moved a fraction of an inch. _So this is how it feels. It’s so easy._ He snapped a savage kick right at the back of the soldier’s head. The soldier had just enough time to look confused before it connected with the force of a sledgehammer, propelling him directly into the metal wall which rang with a resounding echo. The large man slid slowly down the wall as his legs collapsed. He didn’t rise again.

Everyone was silent, staring in amazement. Trunks turned away. “Someone should probably get him to a healing pod,” he said with indifference. He went back to the stew, got another bowl, sat down. The room was quiet for a moment, before everyone turned back to their own business, giving Trunks a wide berth. A couple of the big guy’s friends started dragging him out of the room.

“Nice takedown, kid.” Tagoma slowly clapped from the seat he’d kept the whole fight. 

“No thanks to you. What the hell?” Trunks couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.

Tagoma smirked. “Did you need my help?”

“Well...no, but—” Trunks broke off. No. He didn’t. He hadn’t needed anything. He’d crushed that guy, with no help at all. _Well, shit._

“Exactly. You don’t need to be coddled or protected. Not anymore. And you won’t be, so don’t let down your guard. You’ve made an enemy today, and you let him live. Generally a bad idea. So watch your back, because when he comes after you, you’re on your own. My job’s not to save weaklings from themselves.”

There was a strange light in his face. The kind of look his mom got when one of her inventions worked exactly the way she wanted. Trunks narrowed his eyes. "You knew that was gonna happen. You put me in that seat on purpose."

Tagoma merely grinned at him. "Let’s go. Lord Frieza wants to see you today.”

Trunks froze, his eyes widening. He hadn’t seen Frieza since the day he found out—

“Wants to see me? Why? What does he want?” He mostly succeeded at keeping his voice from rising with panic.

Tagoma shrugged. “I do what he says. I don’t ask questions. A habit you should be getting into, by the way.”

The throne room was as Trunks remembered. His heart sped up at the sight of the door. Nothing good happened in this place. 

Frieza was lounging in his throne, a bored look on his face. Tagoma knelt in front of him, gesturing for Trunks to do the same. Trunks stayed standing. “The boy, my Lord.”

Frieza stood. “Well, well. It’s been a while, monkey. I see you’ve not learned much in the way of manners.”

Trunks willed his knees to stay stiff, prayed his voice would stay level. “I don’t bow to you, Frieza.”

Frieza simply chuckled softly to himself. “No, so it seems.” Abruptly, an entire tree smashed into Trunks’ chest and hurtled him across the room. It took him a moment to realize Frieza had hit him with his tail, faster than he could even notice. He gave a cough, barely noticing the taste of blood at this point.

Trunks tried to prepare himself for the next blow, but he was too slow. A punch hit him in the face, sending him sprawling. Trunks spat out a tooth and rose to his feet. His face was hot, his breath streamed from his nostrils like a bull. He could feel the pulse of energy spiking higher and higher as he got back into his fighting stance.

“Oh my. The little monkey's angry. Whatever shall I do?” Freiza sneered before lunging with an attack.

Something in Trunks shifted. Suddenly, it was like in the canteen—time was moving slower than it should. Unlike the enormous moron he’d fought earlier, Frieza was by no means slow. But his movement wasn’t invisible, like it had been before. Trunks saw him tense his leg in preparation for a kick and threw himself to the side to dodge. He evaded the incoming kick, spun behind Frieza and came in with an elbow aimed to the tyrant’s spine. Frieza was just as fast though, and he spun around to block the attack with little effort. His tail whipped around once again. Trunks jumped over its arc and used the momentum of his fall to come in with a hammer blow. This time, Freiza’s counterattack connected right before he landed his fists and again he found himself propelled toward the far wall. This time, he was able to absorb the impact somewhat. He spun, ready for the next attack, only to stop, dumbfounded.

Frieza wasn’t attacking. He was standing in the center of the room with his arms crossed, looking at Trunks and...smiling. Not the malicious sneer he’d always been giving before, but actually smiling.

He faced Trunks, though he addressed Tagoma. “Well, it seems your training has been most effective so far, Tagoma. Well done. I didn’t expect the little monkey to be able to dodge one blow, let alone two. He is progressing quite nicely.”

“Thank you, Lord Frieza.” Tagoma’s voice was filled with gratified pride. “The boy is a dedicated student. Quite the natural talent.”

“Mmm. Good. See it keeps up.” Frieza turned in clear dismissal. Tagoma stood and gestured for Trunks to follow him, but before they could leave, Frieza stopped them.

“Tagoma. I think the boy may deserve a reward for his hard work. One full hour, I think, for that performance.”

The surprise in Tagoma’s voice was obvious. “Yes, Lord Frieza.”

“That is all. Keep me apprised.” 

Trunks followed Tagoma out of the throne room. When the doors closed behind them, Tagoma turned to Trunks with an incredulous chuckle. “Well, I didn’t think you’d gotten that good. Lord Freiza is quite stingy with his praise, so you must have impressed the hell out of him. Nice job, kid.” He reached out and ruffled Trunks’ lavender hair, a gesture Trunks usually despised but which this time caused a welling of something warm in his chest.

Trunks tried to push down the feeling. He didn’t like being happy at impressing Freiza. “What did he mean, a ‘reward’?” 

Tagoma gave a smirk. “Follow me.” Trunks had to hustle to keep up as the alien’s tall legs strode confidently down the hallway. 

Finally, they stopped. Tagoma hit the call button of an intercom. “What is it?” a gravelly voice responded to the summons.

“It’s me. The brother’s here. Frieza says he gets an hour.”

The door slid opened. Trunks stepped in before he could process what Tagoma had said and froze as the words and the input of his eyes both hit him at once.

In the middle of the room was a squat reptilian alien. And in its arms, dressed in a tiny mirror of his own uniform, was an infant with soft blue hair that stood in a point on her head.

Bulla. Bulla was here. Bulla was here with him.

He choked back a sob, rushing into the room. The squat reptile made no protest as Trunks took his baby sister into his arms. He looked her over carefully but saw no signs of damage. In fact, she was smiling, giving soft gurgles and grabbing handfuls of his hair. He closed his eyes, held her close, smelling the soft baby scent she still carried.

Tagoma’s voice cut through his reverie. “You get an hour with her right now. But I’ll tell you what. From now on, every hit you land on me you get five minutes more. And if you win a fight against me, you get a full day.”

A full day with his baby sister? Trunks’s heart jumped. _Hell yes._ He was gonna win next time. He’d make sure of it.

The hour passed too quickly. He held Bulla while he told her stories. Threw her in the air to make her laugh. Held her hands as she tried a few tentative steps. But sooner than he’d hoped, Tagoma returned from wherever he’d spent the hour. “Okay, kid. Enough. We have training to do.”

Regretfully, Trunks handed his sister back to the caretaker. The weird lizard creature seemed to be taking good care of Bulla, but Trunks made sure to make his glare as intimidating as possible.

As he left the room, Trunks was too distracted to notice the soldier passing by in the hallway. He bumped into Trunks hard. 

“Hey, watch where you’re going, pipsqu—”

The soldier abruptly cut off, his eyes widening. Trunks vaguely remembered someone who looked like this soldier in the canteen earlier.

“Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t see it was you!” The panic in the soldier’s voice was obvious. “That was totally my fault. Uh. Please forgive my ineptitude. Sorry. Sorry.” He was practically bowing as he hurried away, his eyes never leaving Trunks.

_He’s scared of me_. Trunks felt an unfamiliar burst of pride as he watched the soldier scurry down the hall, as other soldiers turned to regard him with awe. _Hn. He should be scared. I’d beat all these guys without breaking a sweat._ A slight smile curled one side of his mouth.

“Let’s go, kid!” Tagoma was summoning him from down the hall. Trunks hurried to follow. 

He had training to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
>
>> "You will be entering a sort of 'null space' similar to what you have experienced before," Whis instructed. "It will act as a bridge between the Sixth and Seventh, and allow you to retrieve the balls you need. I must warn you, this will not in any way be safe."
> 
> [Chapter Notes](https://avechameleon.blogspot.com/2021/03/through-seven-gates-ch-7.html?zx=8cb027d52ebd20b3)
> 
> As always, thank you so much to my loyal readers, and to my lovely beta blackswans22! Can't do it without you!


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